Adventures at Morecastle
by OnlyaNovel
Summary: A lucky meeting in the seaside town of Morecastle results in a series of light-hearted adventures and misadventures, accompanied by prodigious amounts of flirting.
1. Part 1: Boating

Hello again! I promised more stories, and so here's another one. This one is in five parts, ranging between 6,000 and 9,000 words a piece. I won't post as often as I did with the last one, maybe only once a week or so. It is a finished story, though, so you don't need to worry that I'll leave you hanging. Again, I previously posted it at another site, so if you've read it before, that's probably why.

* * *

**Adventures at Morecastle**

**Part 1: Boating**

"Oh, Jane!" declared Elizabeth. "What are men to sand and sea?"

Jane smiled. "I never knew it could be so beautiful," she admitted. "The paintings I've seen didn't do it justice."

"Justice? Not any more than mud pies do Hill's blueberry tarts justice!" Laughing, she began to run along the sand, albeit a bit awkwardly. Jane followed her, clutching her bonnet and joining in her laughter good naturedly. Lizzy's own bonnet fell off her head and several of her curls came undone or clung to her face as she came to a gasping halt. When she could breathe again she collapsed on the sand with a sigh of contentment.

"Lizzy," said Jane in mild reproach, "you'll ruin your dress."

"Oh, what is muslin to the superior pleasures of the earth? Jane, how I wish we had come here earlier. How glad I am after all that my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner could not go to the Lakes. I could never have gone there with you, you know, and everything is better with you nearby."

Jane seated herself in lady-like fashion on a nearby rock. "It is too bad about little Edward becoming so ill, though. I am sure no one ever wished to _have_ to go the coast, or for such a reason."

"He is well, dearest," smiled her sister reassuringly. "The doctor said he was well indeed; he just needs some healthy air and sunshine to recover completely. It was so kind of Aunt Gardiner to wish to bring us along! I am just sorry that the whole time I was in Kent you were dealing with such anxiety."

"I thank God that none of the others got sick." She repeated her frequent comment of the last week. "And I am glad that I was there to help care for the children while our aunt was so distracted. Were you sorry to leave your friend so soon?"

"Not really. My time there did pass more pleasantly than I had expected. I enjoyed Charlotte's company very much, and the frequent visits from Colonel Fitzwilliam were very agreeable, but I believe I have had enough of Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine to last me another year at least."

Jane looked rather slyly. "You must tell me of this Colonel Fitzwilliam. He sounds like a most pleasant man."

"A very pleasant man indeed," she agreed with a laugh, and slight color on her cheeks. "A most gentlemanly man, with all the charm and manners which his cousin lacks."

"I am sorry you should still dislike Mr. Darcy so much. Surely he was not uncivil to you?"

"Oh! No more than to everyone else. He was generally uncivil; generally silent and uncommunicative, that is. I must say he treated me to his glare rather more often than the others, but at least he never said anything slighting to me that I noticed."

"But you enjoyed speaking with the colonel."

"Oh yes. We talked on all manner of subjects. I don't know that I've ever had the opportunity to converse with a man who had such a well-informed mind."

"And his father is an earl?"

"A real life earl. Now, Jane, don't start talking like our mother!"

"Of course not, dear. But I cannot help but wonder if he might have formed an attachment to you."

Again she blushed a bit. "I do not think so. Oh, he came often, but there wasn't really anything else for them to do, you know. Why even Mr. Darcy came often!"

"I imagine _you_ were the main attraction for both of them, Lizzy. Why else would they have called so often? Surely not only to see the Collinses."

"Well we shall each agree to think as we please on the subject. You'll begin to sound like Charlotte next." She stood up and dusted her sandy posterior. Jane joined her arm with hers, and they two sisters began to stroll back up the beach the way they had come.

"What did Charlotte say?"

"Oh, she tried to make out that Mr. Darcy admired me."

Jane thought about this. "I do not see why he should not admire you," she said. "It seems perfectly natural to me."

"Of course it does! Dearest Jane!" She smiled affectionately and squeezed her arm.

"If it's true that he looked at you a lot I am sure she was right. Why else would a man want to look at you but to admire you?"

"To criticize me, I suppose. It's what I always thought."

"I think you are being unkind to Mr. Darcy to be always suspecting his motives so. "

"Perhaps. But on a day like this, what does it matter?" She turned her face up to the sun and would speak no more of serious subjects.

~%~

"Do you think she will like it?" asked Charles Bingley anxiously where he stood on the sea wall.

His friend Fitzwilliam Darcy shrugged. "Well enough, I dare say." He seemed a little distracted, almost as if he was searching the beach for something.

"I still don't understand why she wants to come here instead of Weymouth or Brighton, but it is very pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes, very pretty," replied the other, who, however, was not really thinking of the sand and sea at that moment.

"I do appreciate your coming here with me to check out the houses."

That finally caught Mr. Darcy's attention. "Really, Bingley," he said, "you must have greater confidence in your ability to make your own decisions. Surely you can rent a house at the sea shore without requiring a second opinion!"

Mr. Bingley grinned back, not in the least offended. "But how should I get your company if I did not always need your opinion?" he asked.

"By asking for it, of course."

"Well, but you _do_ give the best advice, Darcy. Why, without you I would have taken that house in the middle of town!"

"That's because you didn't consider how little your sister would like to have every passer by staring into her parlor window."

"Exactly! I never think of these things, but you always do!"

"That's because I've been arranging my own affairs for rather longer than you have," said Darcy, in a gentler tone. "Would you care for a walk along the beach?"

"Oh, yes, what a fine idea!"

They set out immediately, although they weren't really ideally dressed for walking through the sand. Darcy wondered for the hundredth time just how big a fool he actually was being, even if as he could not help but peer at every female figure they passed.

It had been a considerable shock to him when Miss Elizabeth Bennet left Kent earlier than planned so that she could join her uncle and his family at the sea shore. He had been just on the verge of proposing to her, holding out with a sense of virtuous reluctance even while he daydreamed about married life with her, when the news had arrived. It had arrived over his morning eggs and coffee, too, which was an added aggravation. The decision, apparently, was the work of little more than a day. According to Mrs. Collins, when he and his cousin had visited the parsonage to get details, Elizabeth had been very anxious over the welfare of a young cousin who had taken ill shortly after her arrival in Hunsford. Then one day a letter arrived saying that he was much improved but the doctor thought they should take him to the coast for a holiday, so the whole family was going, including the elder Miss Bennet, and would Elizabeth like to come too? She liked very well, and had written immediately to accept, and then been gone before the gentleman even realized she was going.

Darcy had been more than a little put out. What did she mean, leaving like that, without even bidding them goodbye? Didn't she know that he was only seeking an opportunity to speak to her? Nor could Mrs. Collins even recall exactly which seaside town they were to visit—she thought perhaps it hadn't been determined yet when the letter arrived. He was as petulant as a debutante the first day, thinking himself ill-used indeed.

The second day the reality of the situation dawned. Elizabeth was gone. She was gone—out of his life entirely, if he didn't take some measure to actively pursue her. At first he tried to persuade himself that it was for the best. He had been about to make a dreadful mistake and had been saved. But that opinion did not outlast the third day.

By the time he had left Rosings and returned to his house in London, Darcy was determined to find Elizabeth Bennet. If need be, he would wait until her holiday at the sea had come to an end and go to Longbourn. Maybe he would even go to Longbourn now, get her father's permission and find out from him where she was. But he shrank from declaring his intentions to her father before he had declared them to her and hesitated. While he was hesitating, Bingley had written to tell him that his sister had made up her mind to spend the summer in Morecastle, and was anxious that they choose a house early before they all were taken, and would Darcy like to come with him? Besides the fact that he disliked disappointing his friend (especially after his earlier, greater disappointment the November before), the coincidence seemed too fair, too Providential, to be overlooked.

But now, trudging through soft sand past one unfamiliar face after another, he felt ridiculous. Why, of all the sea side towns in the south of England, should Elizabeth be in this one? Not to mention the fact that he was here with Bingley, which couldn't help but be awkward if they did meet. His early optimism fading quickly, he began muttering imprecations under his breath.

All of a sudden the man beside him halted abruptly. Looking up, Darcy was blinded for a moment by the glare off the water, but as his eyes adjusted they came to rest on a pair of flushed, familiar young women walking merrily over the sand in their direction. He drew a deep breath.

"Miss Bennet!" exclaimed both men at once.

~%~

Elizabeth experienced a sense of irritated shock. _He!_ What was _he _doing here? Was she never to be rid of him? "Mr. Darcy!" she replied, and heard Jane's voice saying, "Mr. Bingley!" at the same time. Only then did she notice the other young man who was staring at her sister in a sort of awed wonder.

The greetings were awkward.

"Miss Elizabeth."

"Mr. Bingley."

"Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy."

"Miss Elizabeth."

"Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Bingley."

Having now established that they all knew each other's names, they fell silent. Elizabeth was too busy watching Mr. Bingley watch her sister to realize how Mr. Darcy was watching her. "Good day," said Bingley at last. "How are you? What brings you to the sea shore?"

"My cousin. Good day. Very well," answered Jane, not very lucidly.

He didn't seem to mind. "That's excellent. I—um," he swallowed. "How is your family?"

"They are perfectly well," said Elizabeth on her behalf, when Jane didn't immediately reply. "And you? How are your sisters?"

"V-very well. We are—that is to say, my sister Caroline and I are to take a house for the summer here. Will you… be here for the summer?"

"A few weeks. We are not yet certain how long it may be."

"Indeed." After which word he and Jane promptly lost all civility in admiring gazes.

Elizabeth was much too pleased to be offended, but she was surprised to suddenly find Mr. Darcy at her side, and smiling down at her in a way that made her vaguely uncomfortable.

"Well met, Miss Bennet," he said softly.

Thrown off guard by his warm tone, she said, "I… did not expect to see you here."

"Yet here I am," he replied, looking rather smug. "In truth I did wonder if this might be the town you and your family had removed to. I am relieved to find it so."

She blinked. _Relieved?_ He was _relieved?_ "And your reason for being here, sir?"

"I came to advise Bingley." _And search for you._

"Oh." _Of course. Did the other ever make a move without him?_

Down the beach a few paces, Mr. Bingley was slowly recovering his wits, and had the presence of mind to offer a deeply blushing Jane his arm. "May we escort you to your destination, Miss Bennet?"

"We should be honored, sir. We were about to return to the house."

"Of course. This way?" It was not, in fact, that way, but Jane was not paying attention and merely nodded. They began to walk, forgetting entirely about the couple behind them. Before she knew it, Elizabeth found herself on Mr. Darcy's arm, being tenderly escorted over the beach. Most unnervingly of all, he had placed his hand in proprietary fashion over hers. She told herself that he was just trying to give her that little bit of extra support, but it was all she could do not to jerk away.

"Your friends at Rosings were surprised to find that you had departed our company so quickly, and without notice," said Darcy.

She almost gaped at the hint of hurt in his tone. "I meant no offense to Lady Catherine. It was simply that my aunt was to depart almost immediately and I had to hurry if I was to join them."

Darcy frowned at her apparently deliberate misunderstanding. "Lady Catherine was not the only one at Rosings."

"I am afraid that Miss de Bourgh and I never had a chance to develop much of a friendship," she replied sweetly, "but I hope Colonel Fitzwilliam understood why I had to leave."

His frown grew. "He was surprised, but not certainly not angry. Fitzwilliam has many ladies among his acquaintance, you know, and although I know he enjoys female company I do not believe he has ever held one particularly above another."

She nearly gasped at this pointed cut. "I did not suppose he held me particularly high, if that's what you mean," she said tartly, "but I am certain he considers me his friend."

"I am certain he does," he replied in a gentler tone. "But you must know he was not the one to whom I was referring."

She was about to say something about her not having any other friends at Rosings—which doubtlessly would have gone down very badly indeed—when Mr. Bingley turned. "I say, Darcy!" he called back. "Miss Bennet and I have had the most capital notion! We should get up a boating party!"

"Are you sure you can row well enough, Bingley?"

"Well of course I am! I may not have won acclaim at Oxford for my rowing skills, but I can get a boat around well enough. What do you say?"

"I am agreeable, if Miss Elizabeth is." He looked at her.

She blinked in surprise, looked at Jane's imploring face, sighed and said, "Of course. I should be delighted."

The rest of the way back to the house—once Elizabeth had pointed out the correct street—was spent discussing the finer particulars of their proposed outing. She was further surprised to discover from Mr. Bingley that Mr. Darcy had, indeed, won several prizes in the course of his university career for various athletic events, boating among them. Mr. Darcy himself appeared rather embarrassed at this intelligence; she supposed it was because he thought it beneath his dignity to participate in such plebian pursuits.

It was a very surprised Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner who greeted the entire party. They had long been curious about Mr. Bingley in particular, though of course they had heard of Mr. Darcy as well. Both men were more or less exactly as they had been described: Mr. Bingley the picture of affability, Mr. Darcy of reserve. Oh, he said everything that good breeding required, but no more, and looked around the modest rented house with a most critical gaze. However, he seemed bent on accompanying their nieces and his friend on this expedition, so they must suppose he was not as fully disapproving as he appeared.

~%~

The very next day the gentlemen arrived to collect the sisters. The Gardiners had been invited to come as well, but they declared that they could not leave their children to the sole care of the nurse, and sent the young people on their way with many good wishes. They, like Elizabeth, were eager to encourage a reconciliation between Mr. Bingley and Jane. That young lady had been very quiet, but Elizabeth knew that she was very happy, very happy and fearful too, not knowing what would come of this latest encounter.

Instead of one boat that would hold the four of them, the gentleman had instead chosen, by mutual unspoken agreement, to rent two boats which would each hold only two passengers. They took an open carriage to the dock, which they found to be located in a small bay. The object was the opposite shore, which provided a number of delightful picnic spots.

Mr. Darcy had decided that Elizabeth had been teasing him the day before, perhaps trying to provoke him into a declaration. Although as a rule he disapproved of those sorts of arts, in Elizabeth's case he was inclined to be indulgent. It wanted only opportunity to settle things between them; perhaps he would get it today.

Elizabeth, however, was rather less than pleased to be riding the breadth of a bay alone in a tiny boat with Darcy. She dare not even be too rude, lest he lose his temper and tip her into the water in revenge. Besides, not for the world would she disturb her sister's happiness, this day of days. She had never given up her belief that Darcy was influential in removing his friend from Jane's side; why he had apparently withdrawn his objections for the time being she didn't know, but she vowed to do nothing that would offend him.

The gentlemen handed their ladies into the boats, shed their coats, and proceeded to row. Mr. Bingley's boat tossed and turned about quite a bit at first, which only caused him to laugh very heartily as he worked to right it. Darcy handled his oars with ease, but Elizabeth was too busy watching the others to notice. For his part, he was content to watch her. She made such a pretty picture, sitting only a few feet away with parasol and bonnet, her profile turned for his admiration.

"What an astonishing coincidence it is that we should all have met at the same seaside town, so soon after Kent!" she remarked eventually.

"Astonishing, yes, but not, I think, unwelcome?"

Her eyes on her sister's laughing face, Elizabeth said softly, "No. I could not say it is unwelcome."

He smiled to himself. "Perhaps you could say that fortune has favored us."

"Perhaps." Then, suddenly becoming aware of what he had been saying, she gave him an odd look. "Mr. Bingley certainly appears to find it fortunate."

Now he appeared slightly confused. "Mr. Bingley?"

"Yes, he appears uncommonly pleased to see my sister again."

He shifted, pulling on the oars with long, smooth strokes. "I suppose he might be."

After a final, measuring glance, she turned her gaze back onto the other couple. The two boats were too far apart to converse between them, but not so far they couldn't wave. Their progress was not rapid; Bingley worked about twice as hard as Darcy, who often ceased rowing altogether to give the others time to catch up.

"Is this your first trip to the sea shore, Miss Bennet?" asked Darcy after a time.

"Indeed it is."

"What do you think of it?"

"I think the sea quite beyond any descriptions I have read or paintings I have seen. Its beauty and vastness are without possible description."

"I have often felt the same way myself," he said. He missed Elizabeth's faintly incredulous look.

"Are you a studier of nature then, Mr. Darcy?"

"Not, perhaps, to the extent that you are a studier of people, ma'am, but I am certainly not immune to its beauties. Derbyshire has many wonders I have yet to tire of viewing. Hertfordshire," he added after a moment, "is also lovely."

"And Kent. Let us not forget to give Lady Catherine her due. She was entirely justified in her choice of Rosings as a home."

He smiled. "_You _certainly enjoyed the best of its attractions. I expect that, however well you come to know the formal gardens, you will always prefer your grove, and with good reason."

There he was, doing it again: implying that she might someday stay at the main house. Not to mention referring to the grove as hers. The first time he did something of the sort, on a walk one day, she thought he might be referring to Colonel Fitzwilliam's apparent attraction for her, but she failed to see how he could still think anything might arise in that quarter. What did he mean by it? Trying to cover her confusion she laughed lightly and queried, "My grove, sir?"

He had been watching his strokes in the water, but at that he looked up and his eyes met hers directly. "Very well. Our grove."

That startled her into absolute silence. Surely… Mr. Darcy could not be _flirting_ with her, could he? Worse yet, did he believe she was trying to flirt with him? A vivid blush rose into her cheeks at the thought and she turned her face away.

Darcy saw her embarrassment and contemplated making a declaration on the spot. It was not the most convenient timing, as he was engaged in the rather vigorous exercise of rowing two people across a lengthy expanse of somewhat choppy water, but they had, at least, a measure of privacy. A few words, and they might be engaged before they reached shore.

A pause came, when he could rest on his oars while waiting for Bingley to navigate his way through the currents. The boat rocked slightly, the sky above was very blue, and Elizabeth herself too entirely enticing. "You cannot be at a loss, Miss Elizabeth," he said slowly, at last, "to understand my meaning."

Elizabeth, who was completely at a loss, wondered if he was preparing to deliver a scornful harangue to let her know how entirely beneath his notice she really was. She clinched her hands and pressed her lips together, still not looking at him. "I—"

"I should, perhaps, have spoken to you when we were in Hertfordshire, but I remained silent out of scruples which I am sure you can appreciate, considering your situation and my own. I thought by separating myself from you I could overcome the necessity, but when I saw you in Kent, I knew that it had all been in vain." He took a deep breath.

"Mr. Darcy, I cannot think that we have anything to discuss!"

He looked at her incredulously, and was just opening his mouth to answer when there was the splash of other oars, and Bingley called out, "Hey there to the other boat!" as he pulled his own alongside theirs within speaking distance. "Darcy, must you rub my face in how incompetent I am by lounging around like that?" His face was ruddy and shining from the effort, his grin just as bright. Jane cast her sister an eloquently beaming glance.

Biting back an oath, Darcy replied as coolly as he could, "May I remind you, Bingley, that this was your suggestion, not mine?"

"Oh, certainly! It's a delightful day, and if Miss Bennet doesn't mind my blundering I'm sure I don't either."

"I think you are managing very well, Mr. Bingley," she replied demurely.

"See, Darcy, she thinks I row well enough. Why, I daresay Miss Elizabeth is positively bored from being guided so effortlessly across the water. You had much better dance about, as I do!"

"Why, of course!" Elizabeth laughed, pleased enough on their behalf to forget her irritation and mortification for a minute. "Fortunately we are near now. Oh, look, there are people there already."

"My servants, Miss Elizabeth," replied Darcy. "I sent them ahead to prepare for us."

Rather than being impressed at this bit of extravagance, Elizabeth was just annoyed. Heaven forbid that that the lofty Mr. Darcy get his feet wet pulling a boat up to shore! Or that they be required to spread their own picnic blankets and unpack their own baskets!

Fortunately for her equanimity, Mr. Bingley managed to keep his boat near theirs for the rest of the way, near enough, at least, to preclude any private conversation of a particularly sensitive nature. As further security against insult, she began suddenly to chatter about their uncle and aunt and young cousins, and how Edward had been sick and why the doctor had recommended a journey to the sea shore to completely restore him. Darcy listened courteously enough, but she could see the frown in his eyes and the tense set of his jaw. Too late she realized that such behavior would appear as confirmation of her flirtatious ways—why she would be sounding as cloying as Miss Bingley soon!—but she saw no other alternative.

Once their boats had been duly drawn up to land by the waiting men, she accepted Darcy's hand out of the boat, but lost no time in attaching herself to her sister.

It was not lost on Darcy that she avoided him assiduously for their time on shore. He determined that it must be maidenly anxiety that caused this strange behavior. He had not expected Elizabeth, of all women, to behave so, but he found it oddly endearing. He would have to find a way to move past her embarrassment and nervousness—while not rowing a boat.

The picnic lunch was certainly plentiful for only four people. They were waited on by a manservant who looked utterly out of place, standing there stiffly with sand all over his shoes and his plain black coat buttoned against the sea breezes. Jane and Mr. Bingley kept up a brisk, bright conversation which Elizabeth joined in eagerly, trying not to look at Mr. Darcy. _He _was as silent as he had ever been, only speaking when directly addressed.

When they had finished and all risen from their blanket on the sand, Mr. Bingley offered to show Jane something further down the beach, and they took off together with hardly a backward glance. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy stood about awkwardly watching the servants pack everything up, and when she finally walked away towards the water, he followed her. Annoyed, she walked away again, over a small, grassy dune. Again he followed her.

"I would like to finish our earlier conversation, Miss Bennet," said Darcy, with great intrepidity.

"Oh, look! Sand crabs!" She moved away to view them but he, refusing to take the hint, followed her yet again.

"You will not escape from me so easily! I will have my say!"

She froze, and clinched her hands. "Very well," she said at last, resentfully. "Say what you will!"

He bent over a little to peer under her hat. "I had not expected such diffidence from you, Elizabeth. Why so anxious to avoid me? Surely you are not frightened?"

At that her chin came up and her eyes flashed. "I? Frightened of you? Indeed not!"

"You have no cause to be." He took her hand. Startled, she pulled it away. He frowned. "Elizabeth—"

"I have not given you permission to address me so, Mr. Darcy!"

Now he was beginning to look vexed. "Must everything be a competition with you?" he demanded. "You must know my desires."

"Your _desires_?"

"My most ardent desires." He caught at her hand again. Elizabeth stared at him in confusion. "And I think that I know your desires as well."

"Now that, sir, you do not," she replied tightly.

"Are you angry with me because you think I'm being presumptuous?" He sounded a little incredulous.

"Presumptuous? Yes!"

"You are too sensible a woman to destroy your own happiness for such a reason."

"I have no intention of destroying my own happiness!"

"Then we are in agreement." He finally caught both her hands now in a firm grip, and pulled her toward him.

Feeling like the situation had gotten wildly out of control and quite beyond her understanding, she gasped, "Sir! I must demand that you explain yourself!"

He smiled a slow smile. "That is precisely what I have been attempting to do, is it not?"

"Yes, but—release my hands at once!"

He did so. "You intend to have no mercy on me, I see."

"Have you need of my mercy?" Had he drunk more wine that she realized during the picnic?

But his look was surprisingly open and disarming. "Of course."

"For what purpose? Surely there is nothing I can do for the great Mr. Darcy!"

He raised his eyebrows, somewhat offended. "Let's not speak nonsense. If you are under the impression that I enjoy that kind of teasing, you are wrong."

"I'm afraid that I have not yet learned to cater my teasing to your tastes."

"I shall give you ample opportunity to learn, then."

The suggestive nature of his comments was beginning to have its effect on her. This could not be Mr. Darcy being amorous, could it? She had feared on the boat he was flirting with her, until she decided he was far more likely to be taking her to task. But this present conversation could make sense in only one context. What had he said? _My most ardent desires? _Her eyes suddenly widened, and she gasped slightly. "Mr. Darcy," she said desperately, "I really must return to Jane. It's not proper to leave her and Mr. Bingley alone—nor for us to stand around alone either!" She hurried to leave, but again he moved in front of her.

"You will not let me speak to you!" he exclaimed. "You are shy! Why? Is it—" Without thinking, he reached for her hand again, and again she backed away. His eyes lit up with sudden comprehension and his face softened. "My dear," he said gently, "you need not be uncomfortable around me. I will not attempt to kiss you if you do not wish it."

That was too much. "Mr. Darcy!" she cried. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Kiss me? Why should I suppose you wish to kiss me? We are nothing to each other!"

He blinked.

"And now I must beg you to restrain me no longer. I must see my sister!" She stormed off across the sand, while he watched her, dumbfounded.

Nothing to each other? Well, he supposed they were nothing to each other _now[/i[_, but had he not been seeking to change that? And had she not flirted with him time and again in Kent, while they enjoyed leisurely walks and talked of marriage, travelling from home and other pertinent topics? She had encouraged his advances—in the most delicate way possible, of course, without that overt chasing he found so distasteful in a woman. He had been impressed that she seemed content to let him do the pursuing, but there was no question that she had used her considerable charms on him on numerous occasions. Her arch smiles, speaking eyes and witty speeches had been turned on him too many times for him to be mistaken. She had encouraged him, and now she was behaving as it had never happened.

Mr. Darcy was angry.

~%~

The ride back across the bay was to be an exceedingly uncomfortable one. Elizabeth would have begged Jane to switch with her, but it was unthinkable to remove her from the joy of Mr. Bingley's presence and subject her to _his_ company instead. She tried a suggestion that she might ride home in a carriage with the servants, only to have Mr. Darcy inform her coolly that there was no room. She said she was afraid she would be queasy riding in the boat with a full stomach, but Jane poo-hooed the suggestion. "Nonsense, Lizzy, you're never sick!"

So, anxious, unhappy and not a little sulky, she found herself right back in the same boat she'd been in earlier, with Mr. Darcy glowering at her.

With a few powerful pulls on the oars, Darcy left the other boat behind. As soon as they were out of earshot, he began without preamble. "Miss Bennet," he said, "I believe I have a right to an explanation."

Elizabeth gaped at him. "An _explanation?_ For what, pray?"

'

"For the difference between your behavior in Hertfordshire and Kent and your behavior now. What have you to say for yourself?"

"My behavior? What on earth do you mean? It is you who must answer for your behavior!"

He ignored that last comment. "Your manner, madam."

"My manner?"

"Yes, your manner. Your flirtatious, enticing, provocative manner."

She gasped, turning quite crimson with indignation. She had been right the first time! "I have never flirted with you!"

"Please do not attempt to deny it. I abhor deceit. You knew very well what you were doing, teasing and alluring me in that way, encouraging, nay, I might say positively forcing my attraction for you to increase! You gave me every reason in the world to believe that you expected a declaration from me, yet the moment I come ready to make it, you rebuff me! Perhaps you think I am the kind of man who is content to be a woman's plaything, but you are sorely mistaken! My character requires justice, and so I demand an explanation from you!"

"Once again, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth through her teeth, "I have never, ever flirted with you! Alluring you? Encouraging you! I never knew there was anything to encourage! Why, I don't even like you! Until this afternoon I was certain the feeling was mutual. Of course, if your manner of expressing an attraction is to insult the woman you're attracted to, then it's no wonder that you couldn't discern the difference between a woman who's flirting with you and one who's genuinely trying to offend you!"

If Elizabeth was red, Darcy was pale. "And is this all the answer I am to receive?" he demanded after a speechless moment.

"Mr. Darcy, women who accuse you of pride, vanity and a propensity to hate everybody are not trying to entice you!"

He opened his mouth and shut it again, wildly casting around for an example to throw back at her. "You invited me to walk with you in the grove!" he pointed out triumphantly.

"I did no such thing!"

"Yes, you did! You told me repeatedly that it was your favorite place to walk."

"So that you would _avoid_ it!"

"Well, what about our conversation on women settling near their families? You said very pointedly that a woman could be settled _too_ near, and blushed because you knew we were both thinking of Derbyshire!"

She gasped again. "Derbyshire? Why should I be thinking of Derbyshire? I was thinking of Jane and Netherfield!"

There was a long silence after that one. Darcy, still pale, rowed with vicious swiftness while Elizabeth clung to her seat and refused to look at him. "I think it is deliberate sophistry on your part to pretend that you did not notice my regard for you," he said at last, in a resentful tone.

"Why, of course! I always take refusal to converse as evidence of admiration."

"I paid you pointed attentions, you know I did!"

"What attentions? Staring at me from across the parlor? When did that become a part of proper courting etiquette?"

She couldn't help but look at him as she spoke; his face was flushed from exertion, his hair tousled by the breeze; in his shirt sleeves, he looked little like the inscrutable gentleman she was used to meet. He met her eyes almost sternly. "Do you imagine that I stared out of indifference? Or that I sought you repeatedly in the grove because I disliked you?"

Since that was precisely what she had so foolishly imagined, she blushed anew, her gaze falling. Yet at the last she rallied herself enough to say, "What I thought, sir, was that I wasn't handsome enough to tempt you."

The tips of Darcy's oars skidded across the water as he missed his stroke. His eyes widened in alarm and chagrin. It seemed they had reached an impasse in their argument, each having scored an unanswerable point. Both were extremely embarrassed at their current situation, although only one was suffering pain of another sort. But Darcy pushed aside the rending in his chest for now; there would be time enough to feel it later.

Mr. Bingley had been left far behind by Darcy's efficient passage across the bay. When they reached the dock, Darcy climbed out, tied the boat up, and extended his hand to Elizabeth. She took it out of necessity, but released it as quickly as possible, and they stood awkwardly, as far apart as the narrow wooden platform would allow them.

Watching the other boat's agonizingly slow progress across the waves in their direction, Elizabeth's thoughts returned to her sister. Remembering her very great happiness throughout the day, she was emboldened to speak again, no matter the awkwardness. "Mr. Darcy," she began, and felt rather than heard him shift beside her, "I must beg of you not to let the unpleasantness of today's encounter interfere with the happiness of your friend and my sister. Do not take him away, please! Jane has been disconsolate since he left Netherfield, and while he has not proven himself very steady in his actions, his affections do not appear to have altered from what they were. She is the best of all women; if there is any chance that he may make her happy by his choice, do not deprive them both. I know you have influence with Mr. Bingley, and again I beg you not to use it against Jane in your anger at me."

"I have as much concern for my friend as you do for your sister, Miss Bennet," he replied stiffly. "I would never seek to interfere with his happiness for selfish reasons."

"Surely you can see, after today, that that happiness lies with her?"

"I do not believe that is for me to say." She pressed her lips and looked down, and despite himself, he found himself relenting toward her. Even in his anger and disappointment, he could not deny her. "But I shall certainly not seek to remove him, or hasten his leaving."

"Thank you," she whispered. It was the last thing either of them said until the others joined them.


	2. Part 2: Riding in Carriages

**Part 2: Riding in Carriages**

Mr. Bingley was far too caught up in his own happiness to notice his friend's gravity that evening. Mr. Darcy barely made it through his effusions before retreating to his chambers the first opportunity he had.

His anger had mostly faded by then, to be replaced by dismay and strong grief. It was true that he had not actually proposed and therefore had not been technically refused, but her words and manner had been more than discouraging. She didn't like him, she didn't want his attentions, she had thought he disliked her and was satisfied to have it so. Nothing he thought of during the whole course of his miserable night could ameliorate it. He had lost her—more, he had never had her, and he never would.

At breakfast the next morning Bingley was chattering on, something about curricles. "Curricles?" he said. "What do you mean, curricles?"

Bingley laughed. "Don't you remember? We talked about it at the picnic yesterday."

Darcy did vaguely remember something about curricles and ruins, now that he mentioned it. He had not paid much attention, being too preoccupied with watching Elizabeth, but had absently agreed to any plans they might be making. It would never have occurred to him, then, that he might not want to ride out in a curricle with Elizabeth. "I am not about to go careening about the countryside in some rented rattletrap with an unmarried female by my side! Nor should you, for that matter. It's unsafe, undignified, and not at all proper."

"It doesn't seem any more unsafe, undignified or improper than rowing across a bay in a small boat with an unmarried female. You seemed happy enough to do that."

Darcy just frowned into his coffee.

"Come on, man, you already agreed! We're to rent the curricles today and go tomorrow."

"And all of this is just to climb around some broken down old buildings for an hour?"

"Ruins, my dear Darcy, ruins. It's not at all the same, you know. Ladies love ruins."

Darcy muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth will be expecting it. It's already set."

Darcy opened his mouth to tell Bingley that it was time for both of them to return to London, when he remembered the promise he had made to Elizabeth yesterday. Even if he could drag Bingley away, she would certainly see it as a violation of his word. "You will have to visit the ruins without me," he said flatly.

"But I can't do that!" objected Bingley. "There isn't room for three in a curricle, and I couldn't possibly take Miss Bennet out without a chaperone."

"Take the whole Gardiner clan, then. You can use my barouche."

"Weren't you listening to anything at all yesterday? We invited them when we brought the ladies back, but Mr. Gardiner thought the drive was too far for his son who is still recovering, and said it wouldn't be fair to take the other children without him. Plus, Mrs. Gardiner is feeling under the weather herself."

Darcy would have been willing to bet that the Gardiners were rather eager to promote a match between their niece and Bingley—and perhaps between their other niece and himself—but knew it was pointless to say so.

"You promised, Darcy!" cried Bingley. "You said you would be happy to go, or else the plan would never have gotten along this far. You can't let me down! I've got—" he paused. "I've got another chance, Darcy. I remember everything you said to me about Miss Bennet last year and I'm sure you're correct, but I just don't care anymore. I missed her every day since then and now that I've seen her again I can't leave her. Not if there's any chance I might win her love. She did seem happy to see me, don't you think? She _was_ happy?"

Again he remembered what Elizabeth had said the day before, about her sister being disconsolate over Bingley's absence, and even he had to admit that Miss Bennet had seemed delighted with his friend. "Yes, I think she was," he conceded.

"Then you can't fail me. You must come—you must give me this chance to court her, before I lose it again. I can't—I can't bear another six months like these last ones."

Darcy looked at his friend with sudden sympathy, understanding all too well, now, what he was feeling. Not that Bingley had ever had the misfortune to discover Miss Bennet disliked him, but he had believed her indifferent, and suffered under the belief. Darcy knew it was his fault Bingley had felt that, and although he still thought his opinion a reasonable one, he did owe him some reparations. "Very well," he agreed quietly.

~%~

Elizabeth was in a similar position. She did not want to ride in a curricle with Mr. Darcy to see the Bleydon ruins, no matter how pretty they were. If possible, she wanted it even less than she had wanted to go boating with him yesterday—it would be unbearably awkward after everything that had passed between them! It still boggled her mind that Mr. Darcy should have developed some sort of admiration or tender feelings for her, and that he had been, moreover, on the point of making some sort of declaration (though she could hardly imagine it would have been a proposal). It embarrassed her exceedingly to realize just how blind she had been, and if she was embarrassed, she could only imagine how much more embarrassed he was. She would have given almost anything in the world to have avoided the necessity of riding with him that day—almost anything, that is, but her sister's happiness. All thoughts of feigning an illness went out of her head when she saw how happy Jane was, and how eager for the outing.

She expected Darcy himself would bow out, and failing that, wished that Aunt and Uncle Gardiner could have found a way to come with them, but the fact was that Aunt Gardiner had just recently discovered that she was expecting their fifth child, and while in general she felt well, the thought of spending the better part of a day in a rocking carriage was simply too much for her. She much preferred to sit on the beach where she could watch her children play. Perhaps it was a bit daring for the Gardiners to let their two attractive young nieces go around like this with two gentlemen, but they had a very strong regard for those nieces' trustworthiness, and Mr. Bingley was known to be an honorable, amiable gentleman. Mr. Darcy was a bit more of an unknown quantity, but Elizabeth had been in his company a great deal and was able to assure them, with laugh, that he posed no threat to her virtue. They, like everyone else, could see just how much Jane wanted this, so they gave their consent, after Mr. Gardiner extracted a promise from the gentlemen that they would all remain together at all times.

Of the two curricles the men had found to rent, one was sturdy and well-sprung, the other rather less so. Somehow, Darcy and Elizabeth ended up seated in the one that was rather less so. Darcy's own horses were hitched to it—he had liked the rented horses even less than the rented carriages—but even so they jostled and swayed quite alarmingly along the road towards Bleydon. Elizabeth hadn't ridden in a curricle for years, and was sure it could not have been as high or as unsteady as this one. She clung tightly to her seat, trying hard not to bump shoulders with Darcy at every rock in the road.

They had not spoken since the moment he handed her up into it. Instead they followed behind Bingley and Jane, who appeared to be enjoying their ride immensely. Darcy focused on his driving and Elizabeth focused on not falling out. Each was acutely aware of the other, neither one willing to be the first one to speak.

Finally, when the silence had grown so painful that Elizabeth was contemplating screaming to relieve it, Darcy spoke. "I am sorry," he said stiffly, "that you should be forced to endure my presence today. If I could have remained at home without offending my friend I would have."

"And I am here only in support of my sister," she replied.

"Perfect. Now we understand each other." He whipped his horses a little faster.

"Indeed."

That may have been the last thing they said to each other that day, if the axle hadn't broken.

They had come to a particularly rutted portion of road, each keeping to their seats by sheer grim tenacity. There was a lurch, a large bump that made Elizabeth go, "Oh!," a deafening crack, then the seat seemed to drop away beneath her. Before she knew what was happening she was half-sliding, half-tumbling, skirts, parasol and all, colliding with the fallen wheel on the way down. The horses reared; Darcy had nearly fallen out of the curricle before somehow regaining his balance enough to pull on the reins, and if it wasn't for an almost superhuman effort on his part, they would surely have dragged the tilted carriage another hundred yards, quite possibly running Elizabeth over in the process.

Elizabeth lay on the ground, largely unhurt but for a bruised posterior and a cut on one cheek, and stared meditatively at the sky above her. It was, she thought, quite lovely. It was presently blotted out by Mr. Darcy's face, very pale, and she realized absently that he had been calling her name for the last half minute or so. "Elizabeth," he begged. "Miss Bennet, say something."

His hand touching her face brought her back to herself and she swatted him away, sat up and grunted. He staggered with relief and sat down himself. Neither one said anything more for a little while, glumly surveying the wreckage. At least the horses were quiet now.

"I'm going to kill Bingley," said Darcy at last.

For some reason this line, along with the image of her and the dignified Mr. Darcy sitting in the dirt at the side of road together, struck Elizabeth as overwhelmingly funny. She began, to Mr. Darcy's considerable astonishment, to giggle. The giggle quickly grew, and she threw back her head and laughed until even Darcy could not help but join in. They all but howled, and if Elizabeth had been with another woman she would have drummed her feet on the ground. By the time they finally quieted, both were considerably lighter of heart, and the tension that had existed between them earlier seemed gone. "You are a remarkable woman, Miss Bennet," said Darcy, smiling at her.

"Speaking of Mr. Bingley," she replied, ignoring that, "where have he and my sister absconded to? Surely they didn't just drive off and leave us here."

"Their curricle had just rounded that corner up there when our accident occurred. If I know Bingley, he hasn't even noticed we're not behind him anymore. Once he does he'll turn back to find us, but until then our only option is to wait." He gave her an apologetic look. "I could attempt to walk back to an inn, but it would probably take just as long."

"I imagine I am as capable of walking it as you are, but hopefully it won't come to that. I have faith that Jane, at least, will look back at last."

"Are you truly well?" he asked her earnestly. "Your face—"

She touched it gingerly. "Is it very bad?"

"No, but it looks painful."

"It is a bit." She fished a handkerchief out her reticule, where it still dangled from her wrist, and, wincing, began to apply it to her cheek. Darcy took it from her gently.

"Here." He pulled a flask out of his pocket and poured a little liquid over the cloth to dampen it. "It's only water," he said to her questioning look. "Allow me?"

She nodded, and he began to clean the wound carefully. A different silence fell over them, punctuated by their breathing. Elizabeth's eyes, very wide, were fixed on his face, frowning in concentration just a foot or so away. "Will it require stitches?" she whispered.

"No," he replied, latent tenderness in his voice. "No stitches. I don't think it will scar, either." _Not that it would matter to me._ He didn't tell her that a large bruise was developing; there was no point in distressing her over what she could not help. When he had done what he could he handed her the flask. "Drink."

She did as he requested, but they kept watching each other, and neither one moved from their positions until one of the horses stomped and tossed its head. Darcy started. "I should—" He jumped to his feet and went to attend to them. Elizabeth watched him as he spoke soothingly to the animals, releasing them from their traces, and decided to take the opportunity to attempt to stand. She was fairly certain that it would be an undignified process, and preferred to do it while Darcy was otherwise occupied.

By the time that Darcy had released both horses into the grassy field on the side of the road, Elizabeth was upright and dusting her skirts off. She was sore in places she'd rather not discuss, her gown was torn around the hem and her hair beginning to fall down, but otherwise she was intact. He went back to the broken curricle, retrieved a basket and returned to her. "Forgive me," he said, offering her his arm, "I should have gotten you off the road earlier."

She shook her head but took the arm, leaning on him more than she would like and trying to suppress a grimace. He was watching her closely and cried, "You're hurt!"

"No," she assured him. "No, I am not hurt, just—stiff."

He looked doubtful but did not argue. By the time they reached a shady spot to sit, she was fairly certain he had figured out what was wrong with her, but he was kind enough not say anything. Instead he spread his coat for her to sit on, despite her protests that her gown was already too dirty for it to matter. At least the grass was softer than the road had been.

The contents of the basket were investigated. The hotel where Darcy and Bingley were staying had divided the food between two baskets, one of which went into each curricle. Theirs was found to hold primarily bread and fruit; the wine and meat, apparently, were with Jane and Bingley. Darcy muttered something about Elizabeth needing a glass of wine, but she denied it, and took a pear instead. "I'm not really hungry," she confided, "but it is somehow rather comforting to eat after being so upset."

Darcy just smiled faintly. Their eyes turned back to the bend of the road, around which they expected their companions to appear at any moment. They waited ten minutes, fifteen, making occasional dilatory conversation, each content and anxious by turn. When Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth he saw that she was attempting to fix her hair, pulling out stray pins and sticking them back in again. She had pulled her hair straight back, displaying the perfect oval of her face. Her skin was a little pink, from the sun and the warmth, with a small red mark on her right cheek, surrounded by a darkening area, and her lips were very red, her eyelids bluish and heavy. He loved her so much he could scarcely breathe.

"Miss Bennet." Her eyes lifted. "Miss Bennet, I know that—I know that we have grossly misunderstood each other in the past, and that is likely my fault, but I wish—that is, I would like to know what it is that has caused you to—" he swallowed and looked away, "to dislike me so much."

Elizabeth sat silent for so long that he wondered if she was going to answer him, but she did, at last. "Do you truly wish to hear it?"

He nodded.

"You—" she paused. "You did not make much attempt to disguise your contempt for our society in Hertfordshire, sir. You cannot suppose such behavior designed to please."

He flushed, but what could he say? "Is that all?"

"No… though it would be enough for simple dislike, I believe. Yet I had never thought you actually dishonorable or bad until…" her voice became suddenly uncertain. "Until Mr. Wickham."

"Mr. Wickham?" he repeated, his heart sinking and his temper rising.

"He told me of his history with you."

"I doubt that very much."

"He said you denied him the living your father wished him to receive."

"I'm sure he did." Darcy stood to his feet and took a few steps about, trying to calm himself enough to offer an explanation. Just as he turned towards her, opening his mouth to begin, there was the rattle of wheels and Mr. Bingley's voice called his name. He shut his eyes. "Would you do me the honor of continuing this conversation later?"

"I don't really see the point, sir."

"Nevertheless, I demand—" he drew a breath. "I _request_ an opportunity to answer the accusations he made against me. You must concede that that is only fair."

"You mean to say that you have an answer?"

"A very good one, I believe."

She looked skeptical, and Darcy felt his ire rise again. Was her opinion of him really so very bad? By this time Bingley was drawing up next to the wreckage, so he had no choice but to turn towards them. He took a few steps, stopped, turned and looked her full in the eyes. "I gave him three thousand pounds for that living, Miss Bennet, at his request." He walked off and left her staring after him.

~%~

Mr. Bingley was profuse in his apologies for not noticing they were gone for quite half an hour after the accident occurred. Jane, likewise, nearly wept when she saw Lizzy's injury and begged her forgiveness a dozen times. Elizabeth just laughed at her, trying to cover the many feelings which her time alone with Mr. Darcy had produced. His last shocking words kept echoing in her mind. Only three days before she would have unhesitatingly voted him a liar for making such a claim, but now she was not at all certain. There was no doubt that he had appeared in a dramatically different light to her these last days, and his behavior towards her after their accident had been such as to make her want to trust him. Even as she had accused him she had lacked conviction.

After some minutes of discussion, Mr. Darcy came back to talk with the two ladies. "I'm afraid you'll be forced to share a seat, ladies. The closest inn is about four miles on, and Bingley will take you there. I shall ride one of the horses and lead the other. And," he paused. "We have agreed, Miss Bennet," he looked at Elizabeth, "that it would be best for all concerned if we told people that both carriages remained together at all times."

Elizabeth flushed as she took his meaning, but she nodded, and Jane did likewise. Of course it would not do to let everyone know that she had been alone with him for an hour—not when she would be returning with a torn gown and tumbled hair.

~%~

The inn to which Mr. Bingley drove them was a small affair, with narrow windows and a low roof. Inside it was dark and hot and musty. It turned out that there was little to be had for refreshment but small beer and ale, but the second basket of food was recovered and unpacked. This caused some indignation on the part of the landlord's wife, which Mr. Bingley cheerfully ignored. Elizabeth was given a room and some water to wash with; Jane went with her, and they did the best they could. She was mortified to realize how her face actually looked.

"I'll startle everyone in the common room," she muttered.

"No indeed," said Jane reassuringly. "You can wear your bonnet, and we'll find a table where you may sit next to the wall, or the window, perhaps."

The blood rose in Lizzy's face as she remembered Mr. Darcy's behavior towards her, the intensity of his gaze as he cleaned her cheek, the gentleness in his hands and voice. Somehow, he was not the man she had thought him. What sort of man he was, though, she did not know, but if his words about Wickham were true, she would have to rethink everything she believed, everything she felt, about him.

Replacing her bonnet as cheerfully as she could, she went with Jane to rejoin Mr. Bingley in the common room below.

~%~

By the time Darcy reached the inn, he was hotter and dustier than he ever remembered being, and he was incensed to learn that they were seated in the common taproom. Bingley and the ladies were at a table in the corner, eating their picnic lunch, but they stood out painfully in a room full of farmers and laborers. He caught more than one pair of male eyes trained on the two young females and glared coldly at them as he passed.

His displeasure grew as he saw Elizabeth. She was seated by the wall, her wounded cheek turned away from the room, and her bonnet throwing her face into shadow. It infuriated him that she should be forced to hide her appearance from gawking eyes in such a way. He came to a stop by their table.

"There you are, Darcy," said Bingley cheerfully. "If I may say so, you look rather the worse for wear."

"Bingley, a word?" he asked tersely, jerking his head sideways. Bingley's brows rose but he got up and followed him a few feet.

"What do you mean by exposing the ladies to this common rabble this way?"

Bingley blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Can't you see that every man in here is ogling them? Or that Miss Elizabeth doesn't even have the freedom to remove her bonnet?"

"If they had a private parlor I would have taken it, but they don't. This is our only option."

"Surely some other accommodation might be made!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't see what, unless you'd have us all sit around in one of the bed chambers!"

Darcy muttered darkly and stalked back to the table. He took the seat opposite Elizabeth and looked earnestly at her. She met his gaze warily, and he realized belatedly that his black mood could not be endearing him to her. He looked away, attempting to compose himself to smile and speak pleasantly, when he happened to see the man at the next table staring at Elizabeth in a rather leering fashion. Before he had even thought about it he was on his feet again, moving across the floor.

He came to stop before the roughly dressed fellow, looming over him. "I would suggest you direct your eyes elsewhere," he hissed.

The man grew a little red faced. "Now look 'ere—"

"No, you look here." He leaned forward, making the most of his height, his hauteur, and that indelible air of command which years as master of a large estate had given him. The man could not possibly misunderstand his wealth or his authority. "Those are ladies over there, not common trollops, and if you do not wish me to have you thrown out of this taproom immediately you will behave with proper respect towards them, which includes keeping your eyes off their persons."

The man sputtered a bit, clearly taken aback. "'Ow could ye have me thrown out?"

His gaze flicked contemptuously around the small room. "I'll buy it if I have to." The other stared at him with dropped jaw; he gave him a cold smile and returned to his own table. His sense of satisfaction disappeared when he realized that now everyone at the table was looking at him warily; Elizabeth's eyes seemed dismayed as well. Closing his eyes, he silently cursed his own stupidity and bad luck; she probably had not noticed the man's look, and would not have understood why he had acted as he did.

Eventually, a stilted conversation sprang back up, centered around what they were to do next. Darcy reckoned that it would take some hours to repair the axle, if it was reparable at all, and he was highly disinclined to pay for the curricle's retrieval and repair at all, since he held the business which rented it to him fully responsible. Mr. Bingley had already ascertained that this small inn had no available carriage, even a gig, and it was impossible that they should all four fit into a single curricle. Even the short ride there with three of them had made Jane blush prodigiously. Eventually, Bingley declared it his intention to drive the remaining curricle back to Morecastle and retrieve a carriage which could accommodate all four of them.

It was Elizabeth who first noticed that the light in the tap room had grown dimmer. It was only the middle of the day still, far too early to get dark, so Darcy went to the window to check the weather. The previously gloriously blue and brilliant sky was now covered with dark clouds. A spring storm was brewing.

The others took the news with composure. "It's just as well that we didn't drive all the way to the ruins then anyway," observed Elizabeth.

Darcy couldn't help but reflect that sheltering outdoors beneath ancient arches might have been much more pleasant (not to mention romantic) than this dark and dank room. "I'm sorry, Bingley," he said.

"Never mind," he answered cheerfully. "I'll raise the hood, and I never did care much about getting wet anyway."

This example of his courage and good humor caused Jane to smile so beatifically at him that he lost his power of speech for the next half a minute.

When Darcy came inside from seeing Bingley off—the first raindrops were already starting to fall—he found the two ladies whispering together. His eyes turned immediately to Elizabeth, but it was Jane who approached him. "I believe my sister would like to lie down," she said. "Although she will say little of it, I think her face is paining her."

Ill-concealed by the shadow of her bonnet, Elizabeth's cheek was indeed ripening into a deep purple, with some swelling. Although disappointed to lose her company, he agreed swiftly. "I'll see if the landlady has any ice," he suggested. Jane thanked him and went to accompany her sister.

The landlady did indeed have some ice—though very dirty it looked to him—and he requested that she have it sent up, trusting Jane to find the best way of applying it. He was now left to his own devices and reflections, alone in a miserably common taproom with pouring rain outside the window and the smell of beer, tobacco and unwashed bodies within it. The landlord had bustled about closing the windows at the first fall of rain, but he found a seat by one and pried it open, determined to breathe some fresh air by any means. There he remained as the spray dampened his coat, bearing a grim expression and deep in thought.

It was not, strangely, the matter of his old friend George Wickham which occupied his mind. That, after all, was an affair in which he could easily prove himself blameless. It would not be so easy to prove himself blameless in the matter of his attitude towards her neighbors in Hertfordshire. Beyond that, there were other thoughts that bothered him, one in particular. _She had not known that he cared for her._ She had not had the slightest idea of his interest. Considering what that said of his skills as a suitor, he shifted uncomfortably.

When he had seen Elizabeth lying still on the ground, his world had seemed momentarily to stop. The feelings which the entire experience had aroused simply could not be denied. One way or another, he would have to attempt to do better. He would have to do whatever it took to win her.

~%~[/center[

By the time that Bingley returned with a closed carriage, it had been raining steadily for well over an hour. It was hardly the ideal weather to travel in, but no one had the slightest desire to remain any longer at the inn, so they crowded without hesitation into its interior. Beside the driver up front there was one long-suffering footman, both dressed in raincoats and hats. The coach lurched and moved forward unevenly.

Inside, the men sat on the back-facing seat and the ladies on the forward facing. Mr. Bingley's cheerfulness was unimpaired by his ride through the rain (he had changed clothes before returning), and he and Jane spoke to each other as intently as they could with the space of the carriage floor dividing them. Darcy wished desperately for something to talk to Elizabeth about, but she stared out the window resolutely.

If he had but known it, she was more embarrassed than anything else. The combination of her appearance and their brief conversation about Wickham made it hard for her look at him. She had turned his explanation over in her mind a hundred times and found that as much as she wished to discard it, she could not. Although she had not completely set aside her skepticism, if he offered her any proof at all she would have to accept it. She was already mortified at her lack of perceptiveness where he was concerned, and if she had truly been so prejudiced and foolish as to believe a suave liar against an honest man without proof, her character was in question too.

The road had grown very muddy during the heavy downpour and the longer they rolled along, the slicker the mud got. Even the passengers could feel how slow they were going, and the way that the coach occasionally slid a little bit. Lizzy, not unnaturally, clutched her seat tightly any time this happened, and Darcy watched her with concern. It really was the most cursed luck.

They did not, fortunately, turn over, but they did get stuck. After a particularly laborious slog, the left front wheel stuck deep into cloying, wet, red clay and would not budge any further. When it became apparent that they weren't moving any longer, Darcy sighed and pulled his overcoat a little tighter. "I had better go see what has happened."

"I'll go too," said Bingley.

They both climbed out into the rain. The driver and footman were already on the ground, morosely examining the stuck wheel. "I'm sorry, sir," said the driver when he saw Darcy. "I tried to avoid the worse patches, but there was just too much mud along this stretch."

"It's all right, man, not your fault." He looked down at the mud. "What is your recommendation?"

"John and I'll have to push."

"I'll help," said Bingley.

"And so will I. It's going to take all of us to get us out of here."

Bingley trudged back to the carriage door to speak to the ladies. "We're stuck in the mud," he explained. "Darcy and are going to help push."

The two Miss Bennets looked at him and each other with wide eyes, and began to rise as one.

"No, no! Stay there. It's not fit for you outside."

"Of course we're coming out," said Elizabeth. "We can't sit in here and make your work harder for you." She moved to the door and Bingley automatically moved over to make room for her. Darcy, however, when he looked up and saw Elizabeth about to descend the carriage steps, was not so polite.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She blinked. "I'm getting out."

"You can't."

"I most certainly can! Jane and I have to get out to make the coach lighter."

"That's absurd. Your combined weight is nothing as compared to the weight of the coach."

"Nevertheless, we choose not to add to it."

She made the last step into the rain and mud and Darcy, with a smothered exclamation, tore off his long coat and swung it around her shoulders. "You can't stay out here!"

"We'll stand under that tree over there, see?" She nodded in the direction of a small tree some fifteen or twenty feet off the road.

Darcy was already coming to understand Elizabeth's character well enough to realize that he was not going prevail upon her to return to the dry interior of the carriage. He eyed the expanse of mud that lay between her dainty feet and the tree and, perhaps out of concern, perhaps out of spleen, perhaps out of the fierce desire to do something that would ordinarily be impermissible, he bent over, picked her up, and carried her across the short distance before she could recover from her surprise enough to react. "Stay there," he growled as he put her on her feet.

In the meantime Jane was standing framed by the carriage doorway, looking truly angelic. Mr. Bingley, who had watched Darcy's masterful display with some admiration, made a low bow and smiled adoringly, even while rain ran in rivulets off the brim of his hat. "Madam, if you would permit me—?"

She blushed but nodded and he reverently wrapped her in his riding coat before lifting her in his arms and carrying to her to a place beside her sister. There, the Bennet sisters were treated to a most engaging sight: two young, good-looking men in their shirts and waistcoats, soaking wet, mud up to the top of their elegant boots, straining against the back of a carriage in the rain. The footman, who was young and strong, pushed with them, while the older driver stood at the horses' heads, urging them forward.

It was a long and arduous effort. It seemed for some time that the wheel could not be reclaimed and they would never get the carriage moving again that day. They received an unexpected boon when the rain began to let up; although they were already so wet it hardly mattered, it was easier to see and to grip the sides of the carriage, and the horses were more willing. They took a short break, breathing heavily, and all conferred. Eventually, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley approached the ladies, who were still standing wrapped in their coats beneath the tree.

"You must forgive us," began Mr. Darcy. "We are most reluctant to ask this—"

"But we feel we need a fourth man to push."

"I would gladly loan you my spare man," said Elizabeth, "but I must have mislaid him back at the inn." To her surprise, Mr. Darcy laughed out loud at that. In fact, he was looking astonishingly cheerful, as if the physical labor and dirt had somehow wiped out his black mood of earlier, and it struck her in that moment how very handsome he was, face and eyes bright, with mud splattered across one cheek.

"It is _your_ assistance we seek, my dear ladies," answered Bingley.

They exchanged startled glances. "I am afraid our feeble efforts may not be of much assistance," said Jane, "but we are willing to try pushing, if you wish."

The gentlemen's faces reflected their horror at this idea. "No, no, no!" cried Bingley. "I apologize, I did not mean that we wished for you to help us push the carriage. We would never ask that!" Darcy shook his head emphatically in agreement. "What we were wondering is if one of you might be able to stand with the horses and lead them forward. Then Winker will be free to add his strength to ours."

Both ladies thought about this. "I can do it," said Jane.

"Jane, are you sure?"

"Lizzy, you know I am much more comfortable with horses than you are."

"But I am much more comfortable with mud."

"You are injured. It will be far better if you leave it to me. I am not afraid."

Darcy nodded his approval of this plan, and Mr. Bingley was all admiration. "I'm afraid that you'll almost certainly ruin your shoes," he said, "but I would be honored if you would allow me to buy you a new pair to take their place."

Jane blushed and demurred, then took his arm and allowed him to support her as they picked their way towards the horses. Winker the driver was waiting to give her instructions.

His hands on his hips, Darcy looked Elizabeth over carefully. "Are you well?"

For some reason she blushed under his gaze. "Perfectly. Although—" she glanced upward. "I suppose I should move, really. It is beginning to be wetter under this tree than the sky."

"I would offer you my arm, but—" he looked down at his soaked sleeves.

For some reason she could not readily explain, Elizabeth found herself reaching for him anyway, wrapping her hands around his forearm, wet fabric, sinew and all. Darcy smiled happily at her and she blushed again, fiercely wishing away her bruised face.

Darcy left Elizabeth standing a little way from the tree, in a grassy patch that provided relatively solid footing. With Jane at the horses' heads, all four men put their backs into it. Two took the back of the coach, and two applied themselves to the stuck wheel. The horses pulled, the men heaved, and all at once they began to move. Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, the carriage pulled through the deep mud and rolled onto a firmer stretch of ground. A great cheer went up and then Darcy and Bingley were clapping each other on the back and shaking hands with the other men as if they were their equals. A cheer was given for Jane, too, who had done her part valiantly, and everyone prepared to depart.

Both women were assisted back to the interior of the carriage (Jane modestly slipping off her caked half boots while the men's backs were turned), but once they had seated themselves they found to their dismay that the men, who were now as dirty as they were wet, did not intend to join them.

"We are truly are not fit for it," said Darcy, shrugging his relatively dry coat back on.

"And we may have to push again," added Bingley, seemingly undisturbed by the possibility.

"But where will you ride?" the ladies asked.

"On top."

"On top of the carriage?" repeated Elizabeth, looking at Darcy incredulously.

"Certainly," he replied calmly, smiling a little at her expression.

"You'll catch cold," said Jane, distressed. "You cannot ride in the open air when you are so wet."

Everyone remembered how ill she had become when she had ridden outside wet, and hastened to reassure her.

"Our coats are hardly wet at all," said Mr. Bingley earnestly. "We'll have them on over our shirts, and we can put our overcoats on again too."

"Now that the rain has stopped it's quite warm out," contributed Darcy. "The sun is shining, and we are all very warm from the exercise too."

In the end, there was nothing the ladies could say to induce the men to seat themselves opposite them in their current state, so they had to hope that the remaining journey would not take long (they weren't far out of Morecastle now), and be uneventful.

Everyone seemed to take for granted that Darcy would sit next to the driver, but he declined and insisted on finding a perch on the top of the coach next to Bingley, something in him perhaps rising to the implied challenge of Elizabeth's incredulity. She did not believe he would ever condescend to sit, clinging, to the top of a carriage, and therefore he was determined to do it.

Winker cleared his throat. "If I may, masters…" he leaned over and pulled a flask of wine from under his seat. "The missus always sends some of this with me, in case it should be needed. If you'd condescend to share it with me, I'd be greatly honored."

"What a fine idea!" proclaimed Mr. Bingley and the flask was passed around in a sense of true camaraderie, each man receiving just enough to warm him a little.

They were moving by then, and although Darcy found the seat a bit precarious, he could not help but enjoy the sunshine and the air ruffling his hair as it dried. "This isn't too bad," he remarked to Bingley, who was grinning. "I've never actually ridden on the top before, you know."

"Not even when in your college days?"

"Not even then."

"Oh, we used to think it was great sport, to sit on the top like this and urge the coachman to go faster and faster."

"Sounds dashed dangerous to me."

"Yes, but that was the point, you know? Didn't you ever wish to do anything really madcap when you were younger?" At Darcy's expression he threw up his hand. "Never mind, don't tell me!"

Sitting alone below them, two rather disgruntled young ladies could hear voices and laughter drifting down from up above. "Jane," said Lizzy, "why do I feel like we got the worst of this situation?"

Jane's only reply was a small huff.


	3. Part 3: The Beach

Sorry for the late posting-I've had company. Hope you enjoy!

**Part 3: The Beach**

The next morning Elizabeth looked despairingly into her glass. Although the swelling in her cheek had largely subsided by now, its color just kept growing… well, more colorful. The night before she had tried to make light of it by saying that at least she'd always looked good in blue, but this morning there were greens and yellows as well—and not any shade of green or yellow that she would ever have voluntarily worn.

"It's hopeless," she said.

"It doesn't look so very bad," comforted Jane. "No one who sees you today will care, I am sure."

"It _does_ look so very bad, and as for anyone caring…" she trailed off. It disconcerted her to think that the only person she cared about caring was Mr. Darcy.

Jane smiled knowingly. "Both the gentlemen have already seen you," she suggested tactfully, "and I think it looks better than it did yesterday, now that it is not so swollen."

"Somehow, that does not comfort me at all."

"You must try not to think of it. You know they said they would call after breakfast to see how we are. You cannot refuse to see them, not after everything they did for us yesterday!"

Yes, everything they had done. Although she had by no means forgotten Mr. Bingley's contributions, somehow Darcy filled all her memories of the day. Darcy, bending white-faced above her, cleaning her cheek, carrying her through the rain; Darcy straining his shoulder against the unmoving carriage, smiling at her, wet and muddied and handsome. Darcy turning back towards her, purposeful fire in his eyes—_"I gave him three thousand pounds for that living, Miss Bennet, at his request."_ She groaned silently.

~%~

Over at the hostelry where the gentlemen were lodging, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were having a rather painful breakfast.

"I have bruises here, and here and here," said Bingley, moving his hand down his arm.

Darcy grimaced and reached stiffly for the coffee pot.

"Truly, I thought I was in good condition, but this morning I feel like a lad who's just ridden a horse for the first time and stayed on it too long." He frowned. "That is, if riding horses could give you bruises on your arm."

"Let us face it, Bingley," said Darcy. "We are gentlemen, and no matter how much exercise we fancy we take, we simply cannot compare to the common laborer in the field who has to employ his muscles every day, all day. I dare say even John and Winker are faring better than we are today."

Even as he said the last words the door opened and John entered, bearing their freshly cooked eggs. He winced slightly as he bent over, and the two men grinned at each other.

~%~

Before arriving at the Gardiners' rented house the men returned the one still functioning curricle, and Darcy took it upon himself to deliver a rather large piece of his mind to the owners of the business, including instructions as to where, exactly, they could find their missing carriage, and what, exactly, they should do with it, should they see fit to fetch it, which in his opinion was hardly worth the trouble. Having thus mollified his feelings of outrage, he was able to proceed with tolerable equanimity to see Elizabeth herself.

The entire family was in the parlor when they arrived, children and all. Elizabeth's face was painful to look at, but he thought her no less beautiful because of it.

It was their first time visiting at any length with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Conscious of the need to repair the poor impression he had made by his behavior in Hertfordshire, Darcy made an unusual effort to speak to them and be congenial. To his surprise, he found it was no real effort at all; they were engaging, pleasant, well-bred people, and even their children appeared bright and well mannered. At one point he looked up from a serious discussion with Miss Maggie Gardiner on the merits of shortbread over cake to see Elizabeth watching him in clear astonishment. He colored a bit, and smiled self-consciously. "I have a younger sister."

"Ah." She wasn't sure what to say. This Mr. Darcy was so utterly different from the Mr. Darcy of Hertfordshire and Kent that she knew not how to understand it.

"I say," spoke up Mr. Bingley. "Darcy and I feel dreadfully about what happened yesterday. We were hoping there might be some way to make it up to the ladies."

"I daresay you are not blame for the weather, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, "nor Mr. Darcy for the condition of a rented curricle."

"Nevertheless we feel we owe you a day's enjoyment—if not more! I dare not suggest another out of town excursion after yesterday's disaster, but there are many perfectly safe enjoyments to be had within Morecastle itself. I've heard that they have a very decent theatre, a museum, a magic lantern show, and even a menagerie." He winked at the children.

Mrs. Gardiner and Jane exchanged a look. "Perhaps not the theatre," said Mrs. Gardiner.

"Or the museum," confirmed Jane.

Mr. Bingley nodded genially. Darcy perceived the reason for their refusals at once—it was Elizabeth. She would not like to be seen in public the way she looked now. "Perhaps you have a preference, Miss Elizabeth," he said, looking at her.

Elizabeth blushed self-consciously as the eyes of the room turned on her but answered lightly enough, "The menagerie sounds quite delightful, but I also would welcome a chance to enjoy the beach further. After all, ruins and animals are to be found in Hertfordshire too, but we do not have the sea there."

"The beach it shall be! Mrs. Gardiner, do you have any objection to our joining your party for the afternoon?"

"None at all, Mr. Bingley," she replied smilingly. "My children enjoy all kinds of company, as do Mr. Gardiner and I."

There followed a discussion of particulars which resulted in Mr. Darcy dispatching a note to the Black Horse Inn for his carriage. The children clamored to ride in the gleaming barouche and Darcy agreed instantly, smiling an indulgent smile that quite caught Elizabeth by surprise. But then, everything he had done since she saw him on the beach four days before had caught her by surprise. She was quickly concluding that he was the most enigmatic and contrary man she had ever encountered.

Standing before a mirror in the entry way, Elizabeth struggled to fasten a veil to the top of her hat. They had sent a maid out to procure it earlier in the morning and there was nothing wrong with it, as veils went, but she just couldn't seem to get it to drape right, even when Jane came to help. The mesh fabric itched her face, and she couldn't seem to fully disguise her bruise or to see out properly. Plus, she looked ridiculous. "Oh, bother," she muttered at last, yanking it off. "Wearing it will probably draw more attention to me anyway. Whoever heard of wearing to a veil to the beach? In any case, I care nothing for the stares and opinions of strangers."

"Neither should you, Miss Bennet," came Darcy's voice just off her shoulder. She jumped a bit and squeaked.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

"It appears you walk very softly, Mr. Darcy."

"Either that or you were very preoccupied." The corners of his mouth twitched.

"I assure you, if you had a bruise this size on your face, you would be preoccupied with it too."

"I doubt I should wear it as well as you do, though."

Her look was patently disbelieving. "You have picked an odd time to take up flattery, sir."

"On the contrary." He turned as the others prepared to depart. "I never flatter at all." He looked back at her, and his face suddenly softened. "You may believe me, Miss Bennet… you look as charming as you always do."

Elizabeth had never considered it before, but the Gardiner's carriage really was extraordinarily stuffy. As Darcy settled himself into the seat opposite her a few minutes later, she discovered she was positively flushed from the heat, and it was all she could do not to stick her head out the window to cool it.

~%~

The beach was lovely. No trace of the previous day's storm remained in the cloudless sky, and, although it was still too early in the year to play in the water, the weather was just calculated to inspire all manner of sandy frolics. When they arrived they found that John footman and one or two other servants had gotten there before them and were arranging chaise lounges and chairs around spread-out blankets with an array of food. Although these arrangements were similar to the ones that Mr. Darcy had made the day they went boating, Elizabeth found herself regarding them with very different feelings. What had then appeared as evidence of his arrogance now appeared more in the light of thoughtful kindness. She found herself shaking her head even as she watched the servants working, wondering if she were right or wrong to change her opinion so quickly.

"Miss Bennet?" There he was, at her side again, extending his elbow in invitation. She grasped it firmly and they set off over the sand.

It was a merry party. The children had brought a kite with them, and soon Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bingley were both engaged in helping them fly it, running with great enthusiasm up and down the beach while the ladies called out encouragement and Darcy shook his head sadly. Young Edward, who was still a little pale and weak, grew tired soon and came back to sit with his mother and eat the grapes Darcy had somehow procured. Jane and Elizabeth took a short walk together, admiring the sea once again, watching the others and laughing.

"Mr. Bingley certainly makes up in energy what he lacks in finesse," remarked Elizabeth.

"It is the wind that is lacking, Lizzy. If the breeze were stronger they would have had no difficulty at all in getting the kite up."

"Yes, but we would have had much less enjoyment in watching them do it."

Jane sighed deeply and leaned her head on her sister's shoulder. "Oh, Lizzy, I am very happy."

"Yes. Yes, I can see that you are."

"But I wish I knew what his intentions are. When he looks at me—oh, I feel that he _must_ care for me, at least a little bit, but then I think of how he went away last time, and we shan't all be here in Morecastle forever. If we go back to Longbourn, and he never returns to Netherfield, how shall I be able to bear it?"

Lizzy put an arm around her waist. "I wish I knew what to say to you, but I don't."

"It…" she was silent for a moment. "It isn't _right_ for him to pay me such attentions, if he doesn't mean anything by it, don't you agree?"

"I do. And Mr. Bingley has always appeared to be an honorable man. Yet, you are right. After what happened last year, I no longer feel able to predict the future." She gave her a little squeeze. "It can only help that Mama and Lydia are in Hertfordshire instead of here, though."

After a few minutes Jane went to join the group with the kite but Elizabeth remained behind. Presently, Darcy came walking in her direction, and her stomach clenched. She turned her face back to the ocean as he came to stop beside her, and they stood in a silence for a little while before he spoke.

"I believe we have a conversation to finish, Miss Bennet."

She twisted her hands.

"I do not wish to distress you, but I cannot rest easy until I know you understand the truth about Mr. Wickham."

She sighed. "Three thousand pounds?"

"Yes, plus he received another thousand as his bequest in my father's will. I was glad to accede to his request; he has never been fitted for the church. He said he wished to study the law. Only when the living became free two years later he wrote and told me that since he was now out of funds again, he would like to have it after all. I refused then, but I hope you will not blame me for that."

"How do I know what you say is true, Mr. Darcy?" She was still looking at the ocean rather than at him, but at least he got to study her profile.

"If my cousin Fitzwilliam were here I would ask him to confirm my story. He is my sister's co-guardian and one of the executors of my father's will. As it is, I can only offer to send to Pemberley for my papers there. I have Wickham's agreement in his own hand."

That did it. Even as she had asked him for proof she had been painfully aware that she had never asked his accuser for proof. "That will not be necessary, sir," she said hurriedly. "I believe you." She turned to walk away.

Darcy hastened match to her steps, waiting for her to speak. When she did not he ventured, "Mr. Wickham is a very skillful deceiver. It is not to be wondered at if you believed him."

"Please, sir." She would not look at him. "Do not be gracious. I do not deserve it."

He hesitated. "I cannot agree."

She shook her head.

"Truly, Miss Bennet, my excellent father always believed in Wickham's good character, even years after his habits became dissipated. Without actual knowledge of his history or habits, how could you suspect that he was lying to you?" He touched her elbow fleetingly. "You would not suspect others of behavior so foreign to you."

"Your assessment of my character is too kind. He gave me reason enough to question him, had I the inclination."

Darcy didn't have to ask why she didn't. He knew it was his fault. If he had been in collusion with Wickham, he could not have prepared the ground for his lies.

Elizabeth made a small sound and he realized with dismay that she was crying. He fumbled and withdrew a large handkerchief, pressing it on her, and watched while she pressed it to her eyes, wincing as the fabric brushed her injured cheek. "Forgive me," he said, he hardly knew for what, except that he had grieved her.

She shook her head, and unexpectedly smiled. "Of all the things which have befallen me over the last four days, Mr. Darcy, these tears are well-deserved. You should not apologize."

He stared at her, struck by the fact that she said _the last four days_, not simply _the last day_, or _since yesterday_. He could see how his impetuous, imperative speeches and reproaches had indeed befallen her; how confused she must have been! How astonished! And he in his arrogance assuming that she understood him; that she waited so eagerly for his proposal that he need hardly say the words before securing her acceptance. "Miss Bennet," he began slowly—

"There you are, Lizzy!" Young Andrew Gardiner dashed up. "You'll let me hide behind you, won't you?" He ducked behind her skirts before she could say a word.

Elizabeth began to laugh, and stood with her arms out as his older sister proceeded to chase him around her in a circle. Darcy laughed too as he watched them.

"Hallo!" Mr. Bingley approached. "I was just talking with a local fellow and he says there are some caves up this way, if you'd be interested in exploring. I used to love caves when I was a child."

The children immediately clamored to go.

"Bingley, I do not think Miss Elizabeth is quite up to—"

"Mr. Darcy, do you actually imagine that because I have a bruise on my cheek, my limbs no longer work?"

He laughed deprecatingly. "You are quite right. But are you certain that there are no other—effects from yesterday?"

She flushed a little, discerning what he had too much delicacy to ask outright. "Are _you_ certain you feel no effects from yesterday?" She had noticed both he and Mr. Bingley seemed a little cautious in their movements at times.

"No more than I can manage."

"Then I shall say the same."

Jane decided to stay behind, so Darcy, Bingley, Elizabeth and the two oldest Gardiner children all trekked across the sand and over the black rocks that led to the mouth of the caves. "It's low tide right now," Bingley had explained, "and so the best time to have a look."

"Is this your first time in a cave, Miss Elizabeth?" asked Darcy as they stood peering into a long, narrow opening.

"A sea cave, yes, but there are a few caves in our area that I used to explore with my sisters when we were children." She smiled reminiscently. "My elder sister may not appear much like an intrepid explorer now, but she was quite the expedition leader in those days. In fact, I think Jane is the only reason we ever came out safely. She always made sure we took all the proper precautions."

"And yourself? I cannot believe you simply held back and followed the others."

"It was my job to walk ahead with the torch—in case of bats, you know. I was less frightened by them than the others."

Darcy smiled an odd little smile on hearing this.

The cave before them was not a particularly remarkable sight. The ground was a mixture of sand and rock, rather damp, a few jagged formations providing the only real interest. Maggie and Andrew, of course, were delighted with it, and explored as far as light would allow. After a time they moved on to a second, larger cave. This one proved to be full of tide pools, smooth and glimmering in the half-light; they kept a tight grip on the children, unwilling to let them too close on the uneven footing. The glare from the slick, dark rocks and white sand was unexpectedly bright, coming out, and everyone squinted a little bit and stumbled at first as they worked their way towards the third cave, a bit further down. Mr. Bingley good naturedly swung Andrew from one rock to the other, while Darcy insisted on keeping Elizabeth on his arm and she, in turn, held Maggie's hand.

"Oh, oh!" cried the children, as they entered. Bright shafts of sunlight, slanting down from openings in the roof, turned the floor to a glittering brightness where they struck. Elizabeth, too, clapped her hands in delight and joined hands with the children as they danced around in a circle inside one large light shaft. When she came to a halt, flushed and breathless and laughing, she saw Darcy watching her with a little quirk to his brow and lip.

"I know you despise dancing, Mr. Darcy."

"You mistake, Miss Bennet. Just because I do not frequently enjoy participating in the activity does not mean I cannot, on occasion, enjoy witnessing it. Especially," he added, "when it is performed with such charming glee and innocence."

Charming glee and innocence. Did she want Darcy to attribute charming glee and innocence to her? She straightened with sudden self-consciousness and smoothed her skirt. She was a grown woman, after all, not a child.

They lingered there for a time, staring up through the openings, examining the rocks and enjoying this secret bit of beauty. Finally Darcy judged it time to return to the others, so they made their way back over the uneven surface. At one point Maggie slipped, tore her stockings and skinned her knee. She was an old enough girl not to cry, even though she blinked her eyes fiercely. She said she could go on, but Mr. Darcy picked her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way over the rocks.

"Lizzy, look at me!" she crowed triumphantly over his shoulder.

"I see, dear. Is the view nice up there?"

"Oh yes! I can see ever so much more! Mama says I am too old to be carried now but Papa sometimes carries me and I like it. Mr. Darcy is taller than Papa is, though. Have you ever been carried, Lizzy?"

Lizzy almost stumbled herself. "When I was a little girl like you, of course. Ladies usually have no reason to be carried, you know."

Mr. Darcy murmured something—she couldn't quite make out what it was but she thought it might have been the word _usually_.

When they got back to the others they found that Edward and Mrs. Gardiner had both fallen asleep, he on a blanket and she in a chaise. Mr. Gardiner and Jane were sitting quietly entertaining little Harriet Gardiner; the father looked up when his other daughter came running across the sand to him. "What's this?" he asked, looking at her torn stocking.

"Oh, I slipped on the rocks," she said blithely, "but Mr. Darcy carried me and did you know that he's taller than you are, Papa? The caves were lovely, especially the last one. Andrew and Lizzy and I all danced around in a sunbeam like we were fairies and Mr. Bingley said that Jane looks like she could be the queen of the fairies. And oh, there were pools in the second cave, but they wouldn't let us get close because they said we might slip and fall into them but I don't think I would have minded because—"

"Maggie," said her father in gentle remonstrance. "Don't run on so much. Take a breath every now and again."

"Yes, Papa." She kissed him on the cheek and tumbled out of his arms onto the ground next to Harriet, whom she began regaling with a more detailed description of the wonders she had seen.

"I am grateful to you for helping my daughter," said Mr. Gardiner to Mr. Darcy.

"It was nothing, I assure you. I am only sorry that she should have slipped in the first place."

Mr. Gardiner waved aside his concern, assuring him that Maggie incurred an injury of some sort nearly every week, and the two men settled down into a quiet conversation. Mr. Bingley and Jane began to speak together, while Lizzy sat close enough to alternate between conversing with them and with the children.

After a while, Darcy, who had been engaged with the tradesman in an engrossing discussion on the current economic state of Great Britain, looked up to find Elizabeth watching him again. There was an expression in her eyes that he could not interpret. Their gazes met and she did not look away, but her look was different from the one to which he had become accustomed. It held no archness and no challenge; no hidden laughter. In a moment imports and exports, populations and resources disappeared. There were only her luminous eyes, asking him some unarticulated question. He gazed back, hoping to give her the answers she sought, even as he didn't know what they were.

Mr. Gardiner's seat creaked a little as he shifted, and Darcy's eyes snapped back to him. "Yes, sir, I believe you were saying…?"

Mr. Gardiner covered his mouth with his hand. "Actually, I believe you were saying, sir."

"Oh. Yes." Darcy flushed a little and tried to remember what he had been talking of. "The progress of manufacturing in the north…"

They sat on the beach talking for another half an hour before Mrs. Gardiner suddenly woke with a start. "Oh," she murmured, her hand going automatically to her hair. "Oh, Andrew! Maggie! You're back so soon?"

There was a moment's silence followed by childish giggles and some less than subtle snickering, led by her husband.

~%~

The first carriage had already left, taking with it Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Jane, and the two youngest children. Just as Elizabeth prepared to enter the second carriage, she was arrested by the sight of a young boy, being led in the rough grip of a local constable. He was crying piteously, and her heart wrenched at the sight.

Darcy followed her gaze, and immediately his brow contracted. Releasing his grip on her hand, he strode in the pair's direction. After a surprised moment she followed him, leaving Mr. Bingley with the children.

"—Found 'im stealin' stuff off the beach," the man was saying.

"I wasn't stealin'!" insisted the child. "I was just pickin' up what people left behind. People are always leavin' 'ats and scarves and toys on the beach. They don't belong to nobody no more!"

The constable made as if to cuff him, but Darcy stayed his hand. "Do you have any parents?" he asked the boy.

He nodded vigorously. "Ma mother lives down that way. Ma father died in the war. Please, sir," he pleaded. "I didn't mean any 'arm. I thought we could sell the stuff."

"What, so your mother could spend it on gin?" scoffed the other.

He started crying again. "No, on—on me—me'icine for me sister!"

Darcy looked between the two with pursed lips. "I'll vouch for this boy, constable," he said finally.

"Are you sure, guv'nor?" He scratched his head.

"Perfectly. My name is Darcy." He reached into his coat. "Here is my card. I am currently staying at the Black Horse Inn."

"But—"

"That will be all." He said it with a dismissiveness that would have usually infuriated Elizabeth, but on this occasion delighted her. The lowly constable, apparently recognizing a man of some importance, surrendered the imp with a shrug and a warning.

"Now, my boy," Mr. Darcy stood very straight and looked down at the boy sternly, "you will tell me truth, because if you lie I will certainly find it out. Is your sister really ill?"

He sniffled and gulped. "Yessir."

"And did your father really die in the war?"

"Yessir. In battle in the—the penin—penininsule—"

"The Peninsula, you mean."

He nodded.

"Is your mother a respectable woman?"

"Oh, yessir, she used ta work in a shop and now she takes in sewin' so that she can take care of Nancy, but then Nancy got sick and there's no money for me'icine, and my da, afore he left he said I was to be the man and take care a them, so I thought I could take the things nobody wanted no more and—"

"Yes, I understand." He thought for a moment. "What is your name?"

"Tom, sir."

"Tom, I will go with you to your house right now. If everything is as you say, then I will help you. If it is not, then you will regret lying to me. Do you understand?"

He nodded, big eyed.

"Let us go back this way first—" He started as he turned and found Elizabeth, standing just behind him. He obviously had not realized that she was there.

"Don't go alone," she said immediately.

He blinked. "Why not?"

"Because you don't know where he might take you—what kind of neighborhood. And while I don't believe he's lying, if he is—"

Darcy smiled a little. "In that case, I will take my footman with me. Will that reassure you?"

"Yes, but your carriage—"

"Will return and wait for me here."

Elizabeth couldn't say anymore; her heart was too full. The three of them returned to the carriage, where Darcy had a brief, low-voiced conversation with Mr. Bingley and gave his servants the necessary orders. Elizabeth's last sight, as they rolled away, was of him walking down the street with calm, confident strides, one hand on the shoulder of the boy beside him, John the footman following behind.

~%~

The gentlemen had promised to dine with them that evening. Elizabeth could hardly sit still through the interim, so anxious was she to learn the outcome of Darcy's inquiry. Everything about his dealings with Tom and the constable had been admirable, from the speed with which he stepped in, to his willingness to stake the reputation of his own name, to his handling of the boy. She also knew that he had not acted out of any desire to impress her; his surprise on seeing her had been too real. Whatever else Mr. Darcy might be, he was not an actor. Rather, she felt that she had seen a glimpse of the real man, perhaps for the first time ever.

She could not stop thinking about him, wondering what he had felt for her before, what he felt for her now. Was this transformation in his behavior for her? Had he truly been attached to her, and was it possible that his attachment had survived her rudeness and every indication against him? And did she hope for such an outcome or dread it? She would have dreaded it in Kent. She would have been appalled to learn that Mr. Darcy cherished amorous feelings for her. Now, everything was changed, just as he was changed, just as her faulty judgment was changed. Every reason she had had for hating him seemed removed. He was not, after all, the dishonorable cheater of honest men, nor did he seem to have had any role in separating her sister from Mr. Bingley; not if his current behavior was any judge. Her most firmly held opinion of him, that he was not a pleasant man, and that his pride must make him disgusting to any discerning person, was crumbling rapidly too. The man who had carried Maggie in his arms—who had talked politics with her uncle—who had refused to blame her for believing in Wickham's lies and had offered charity to an unknown boy—that man was neither unpleasant nor improperly proud. Elizabeth hardly knew what to think, but she found herself wishing, for the hundredth time, that her face had not been injured. If he had found her only tolerable when she was looking her best, what must he think of her now?

She dressed with unusual care that evening, but not all her preparations could conceal the source of her distress. Jane suggested pulling out a few curls to fall over the offending area, but she concluded that it would cover nothing and look silly, and with almost vicious defiance, swept it all back. Mr. Darcy would have to take her or leave her like everyone else. She descended the stairs with a determined tilt to her chin and a flash in her eyes.

If Elizabeth had known how little attention Mr. Darcy paid to the bruise on her cheek (except to worry that it was paining her), and how much attention he paid to the brilliancy of her eyes, she would have felt much relieved. He liked this way of doing her hair. Although curls around the face were fashionable, he found he preferred to see the smooth expanse of her brow and the delicate curve of her ears unobstructed.

He was also suffering from a slight sense of unreality. Never would he have imagined dining, with perfect equanimity, at a rented house in the middle-class section of Morecastle with a tradesman, and even less that he would enjoy doing so. The Gardiner's intelligent and well-bred conversation, Bingley's easy congeniality, and most of all Elizabeth's light banter and laughter warmed him better than wine. If he squinted just slightly he could see Georgiana sitting right there, next to Miss Bennet, comforted by her gentleness and cheered by Elizabeth's liveliness. It made an entirely complete picture, one he wished badly to bring to reality.

"Mr. Darcy," she spoke softly beside him. "I wish you would tell me what happened with the boy Tom. Did you meet his mother? Was his story true?"

He looked a little self-conscious, but answered readily. "Entirely true, as it turns out. I did indeed meet his mother, and saw his sister Nancy, too."

"I am so glad! And were you able to help them?"

"I arranged for an apothecary to visit the house and provide whatever treatments necessary. I also," he coughed and ran a hand over his hair, "intend to inquire about the local law—about whether it really would be illegal for Tom to gather lost items from the beach. It seemed a rather ingenious plan to me."

"Is there no other assistance that can be given them? His father died fighting for his county—isn't some provision made for the widow?"

"I'm afraid only officers' wives receive a pension. Tom's father joined the army because he could not find other work, and he apparently sent back every penny he could, but it was very little. There was also some small amount of prize money, which is why they are not entirely penniless, but their situation is certainly hard—and not, I am afraid, unusual."

Elizabeth suddenly felt both her own ignorance of the world and her own privilege within it. She had spent so much of her life living under the shadow of the entail that she had never before fully considered how blessed she truly was to have been born a gentleman's daughter and to have any portion, no matter how small. "Surely we can help them some way!"

He smiled. "What can be done, shall be," he promised. "I do not have much acquaintance or influence here in Morecastle, but I will do my best."

She flushed as she saw her own presumption. "Forgive me, I did not mean that _you_ should have to—"

"All men and woman of means should do what they can," he replied firmly, and cleared his throat. "It may be possible to find Mrs. Lorrey some better paying work than she has."

Elizabeth murmured her assent. "What would you have done if he had been lying about his circumstances?" she asked curiously.

"I would still have tried to help him—but it can be difficult to help someone who doesn't want help. Even children of ten can be hardened thieves and tricksters, wishing for no other life."

"Can nothing be done about them?" she asked. "Is there no one in a position to rescue those poor souls before they are ruined forever?"

"There are workhouses," he said, "but it is no wonder the children would rather steal than go to one. There are a few others who are attempting to do some good—I personally know of two institutions in London which are dedicated to rescuing orphans off the streets. They attempt to give them a home and teach them some useful trade—but the number of children that they lose back to the streets is very high. It is good work though, and I believe they find their few successes a sufficient reward for their failures." He looked self-conscious again as he spoke, and Elizabeth thought, _he knows so much about them because he supports them._ Rather than being a surprising conclusion, it seemed the natural one.

Shame flooded Elizabeth as she pondered how deeply she had maligned and misjudged him. Displeased only by his manners in company and his initial slight of herself, she had decided his entire character and believed gross lies simply because it pleased her. In doing so, she had wronged a most honorable and generous man.

Darcy saw her countenance change, but could not guess what she was thinking. He longed to speak at greater length about causes that were dear to him and the work he was helping to do—about all the good he believed she could do with him—but caution kept him silent. He would not repeat his errors of presumption.

"Perhaps you might like to visit them yourself?" he suggested tentatively. "I believe Mrs. Lorrey would be glad to speak to another woman."

Her face lit up. "I should like that very much. I often visit my father's tenants, but of course it is not the same in the country as it is in the city."

"The poverty in cities is greater," he agreed, "and the crime higher. Necessities like fresh food and clean water can be hard to come by."

"But Morecastle is not a very big city, and it is on the ocean. Surely there is an abundance of fish available?"

He smiled. "It is not quite so simple as that, but you are right. The neighborhoods in Morecastle are not so bad as London's, even the poorest ones. Just the same, there is plenty of poverty in every place."

"_The poor will always be with you,_" she quoted.

"Exactly."

They spoke for a time on similar subjects, and although Darcy's knowledge was certainly more extensive than hers, as was his experience, Elizabeth's quick and eager mind kept easily pace with his. By the time the gentlemen had to leave, both were conscious of a new depth of understanding and sympathy between them. Darcy thought of all those days he had sat in the Collins's parlor and said nothing, and rued the time he had wasted.

"Thank you," he said to Mrs. Gardiner at the end, and meant it. "I have seldom enjoyed a day more."

"Well, Lizzy," she said when they had left, "Mr. Darcy may appear rather proud when you first meet him, but I think he improves on acquaintance."

"Yes," said Lizzy, not noticing her knowing look, "yes, I think he does."

ur document here...


	4. Part 4: Animals, Wild and Domestic

I'm sorry this is so late, and hope its length will make up for the wait.

* * *

**Part 4: Animals, Wild and Domestic**

The next day was Sunday and there was no contact between the two parties. All the young people felt it acutely. On Monday, Darcy and Bingley went to finalize the paperwork on the house Bingley intended to take for the summer. Bingley's discreet inquiries had elicited the information that Mr. Gardiner himself would need to return to London and his business in another week, but his wife and children intended to remain for as much as a full month, depending on how quickly Edward regained his strength. His two nieces had the option of returning with their uncle, or waiting with the others.

"I must write Caroline to speed her plans," Bingley was saying as they rode home. "The Season isn't over yet, but if Morecastle really is to become the new fashionable bathing place she says it is, she can have no objection. If Louisa and Hurst come with her, it would be perfectly proper for them to ask Ja—Miss Bennet to remain as well, as our guest, for the rest of the summer—or until we have to go to Pemberley. They'll be delighted to have her company, I know; she was the only one they regretted not seeing any more when we left Hertfordshire, although of course they didn't feel that they could say that. But Caroline will understand when I explain that—"

"Bingley."

"Yes, what is it, Darcy?"

"Ah… your, ah... I fear you are being overly optimistic."

"Why, what do you mean?"

Darcy sighed. "There's something I feel I ought to tell you. Miss Bennet was in town over the winter."

"Yes, I knew that." Now Bingley just looked puzzled. "She told me. I asked her why she never wrote my sisters of it, and she said that she did write, but the letters must have gotten lost in the mail."

Darcy sighed again. It appeared that Bingley and Miss Bennet both were so innocently trusting it was absurd, but it was not for him to expose Bingley's sisters. Instead he said, "I knew of it."

"What, you mean over the winter you knew?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I heard of it." That was as close as he would come to explaining his source of information—Bingley would have to make the inevitable deductions himself. "I chose not to tell you because I feared the information might bring you pain, or else you might decide you had to see her and… and that, too, could have caused you pain. I believed I was acting in your best interest at the time, but in light of recent events it appears singularly officious and not particularly wise."

Bingley's blue eyes were clouded over now, and his brows drawn low with confusion. "You… concealed something you knew I would wish to know."

"Yes."

"You... _disguised_ it?"

"Yes."

"You hate disguise."

"I do, but in this case I condescended to adopt at least some slight measure of it."

They rode on quietly. "I would never have thought it of you, Darcy."

Darcy winced but didn't say anything.

"You know…" Bingley was speaking softly, "You know that if I had met Miss Bennet in London a few months ago and she had appeared as glad to see me as she did here, I must have tried again. We could have been married by now—that is, presuming she would have had me."

"I'm sorry, Bingley."

He went on after another moment. "If I had stayed in Netherfield in the first place we could have been married even longer."

"I'm sorry," said Darcy again.

But Bingley shook his head. "That I cannot blame you for. I am the one who left."

"I advised you badly."

"Yes, but… I'm the one who left." He felt silent again. "Really… it's astonishing she should even speak to me. I paid her marked attentions, went off promising to return in a few days, and then never did. I treated her infamously, and that's the truth."

"You would have returned if it had not been for me."

Bingley paused for a long moment. "You always told me that I let myself be too easily persuaded by others, although I don't suppose you meant yourself."

"I meant persuaded without reason, while I hope I have always used reason—but in this case, my reasoning was faulty. I was wrong to claim Miss Bennet was indifferent to you on so little acquaintance."

"And I was wrong to accept your judgment over my own, when I knew her better."

The friends smiled ruefully at each other. "Can you forgive me?"

"Since you have been so kind as to assist me this time around, I suppose I must."

"I may have some need of your assistance, too."

"Why, what do you mean?" But before Darcy could explain, they arrived at the Black Horse Inn. Just at that moment, a rather large and opulent coach swept past them into the yard. "Hallo," said Bingley. "That looks like my coach. And that for sure looks like my coachman."

Their suspicions were confirmed a minute later when the steps were let down and Miss Caroline Bingley descended. "Charles!" she exclaimed upon seeing them. "And Mr. Darcy!"

"What are you doing here, Caroline?"

"Why, I came because of your letter, of course."

"My letter?"

"Yes, you said you had found a house."

"We did find a house, but we can't move into it yet. I just signed the final papers today, and it won't be ready for two weeks at the earliest. I thought I told you that in my letter!"

"Oh." She shrugged carelessly. "You know I can never make out half your words through all those blots. You should get Mr. Darcy to give you lessons in how he makes his pens, as I am sure yours are never trimmed properly. Either that, or it is how you hold it. Do you suppose you could teach my poor, sad brother how to hold a pen properly, Mr. Darcy?" She smiled flirtatiously at him.

"Your brother does not lack technique but patience, Miss Bingley."

"I hope you don't think we share that quality. I have infinite patience."

"I have no doubt," he muttered.

"You've always said that you hate staying at inns, Caroline, but you'll have no choice now."

"Then I shall just have to endure until the house is ready."

"What happened to staying in London until the end of the Season?"

"Oh, London. I'm so terribly bored with it."

"Well what about Louisa and Hurst? Are they coming too?"

"Presently, my dear Charles. Presently." She slipped one hand in her brother's arm and the other in Mr. Darcy's and led them expertly on.

Approximately half an hour later, Darcy was reading in their private parlor when Miss Bingley entered. Immediately she shut the door and came close. "My dear Mr. Darcy, what an unpleasant shock! I came as soon as I heard, to assist you in any way I can."

He raised his brows. "Assist me? I'm afraid I do not understand."

"Those dreadful Bennet girls! You must have been so vexed to have met them, and at the most unlikely of times! Whatever are they doing in Morecastle, of all places? And what did they mean by imposing themselves on your notice? If it were possible I would suspect Jane Bennet—or perhaps Elizabeth, she's the more conniving of the two—of having discovered you were to come here, and bringing her family expressly to meet with Charles again."

"Considering that they arrived before we did, it would appear more likely that we followed them."

She laughed a tinkling little laugh. "I did not say I actually thought it possible! No, it is only the most ill luck imaginable. You must be displeased with me for suggesting Morecastle in the first place, but truly I had no idea that one could encounter such plebeian company here!"

"Miss Bingley," said Darcy, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I must tell you that I have decided to support your brother in his renewed pursuit of the eldest Miss Bennet."

"But—but—" she gaped at him. "I don't understand."

"We were mistaken in our belief that she did not favor him. If you had seen her when we first encountered them, or in the time since, you would realize as I have, that she is, in fact, most sincerely attached to him."

"But her family! Her connections and fortune!"

"Are not ideal, I grant you. However…" he paused. "However, there are other considerations which any man of sense must place above mere station. If your brother sincerely believes that Miss Bennet is the only woman capable of making him happy, then there is nothing for us to do but wish him success."

Miss Bingley was trying desperately to regain her equilibrium. "You've always been such a loyal friend, of course. Did you… um, do you know if dear Jane has happened to mention our meeting in London to him?"

"She has not. I think her delicacy prevents her from relating events which would inevitably appear unflattering to his sisters."

She flushed.

"Neither have I said anything to him about it, but I did feel obliged to relate my own knowledge of her presence in town, and it is likely that he will realize my information must have come from you. I am sorry if it causes trouble between you, but my conscience would allow me to be silent no longer. It was beneath me to conceal it in the first place."

"Well of course it was beneath me too! Why, I would not snub or mislead a friend for the world—except out of dire necessity. My brother's happiness appeared to be at stake, after all. My dear Mr. Darcy, you must have endured so much over these last few days; not only Miss Jane Bennet but that impertinent shrew of a sister, and their lowly Cheapside relations!"

"Actually, I have found the Gardiners to be intelligent, well-informed and amiable. I have enjoyed their company very much. And," he added, "the company of their delightful children."

The lady seemed to be having some difficulty speaking. "Miss Eliza's manners must surely have offended your fastidious taste! A more forward, unlikeable girl I have yet to meet!"

Darcy stood up abruptly. "Miss Bingley, if I offered you any encouragement to break off your acquaintance with Miss Bennet, then I am truly sorry. However, the Bennets—and their relations—appear likely to become your relations soon, so I would advise you to treat them with civility. Good morning." He walked out of the room before he said something that he regretted.

Miss Bingley's coming threw the gentlemen's schemes into decided disorder. Both open and covert wooing could benefit very little from the addition of a fifth to the party. Darcy had the uneasy feeling that, once convinced she could do nothing to prevent her brother's match with Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Bingley would expend the majority of her energies on him. His opportunities to have private conversation with Elizabeth had all but disappeared entirely.

Feeling slightly guilty, he did manage to persuade Bingley that it was his duty to take his sister to tour the new house immediately. As soon as they left, he got on his horse and made his way over to the Gardiners' current residence. There, he found everyone except Mrs. Gardiner preparing to visit the menagerie, which reputedly housed an astounding array of exotic beasts that the children were wild to see. This expedition he joined cheerfully, no longer even amazed at his broad-mindedness. The smile Elizabeth gave him as he handed her and two of the children into his carriage sent him to quite absurd heights, and the more she blushed at his smiles, the more he found himself smiling at her, not broadly, like a fool, but in a quiet, deliberate fashion. The two children chattered on around them, listing the animals they hoped to see, but the two adults said little. Elizabeth kept her eyes mostly fixed on her cousins, with the occasional furtive glance to confirm that, yes, he was still watching her with warm, purposeful eyes, and that knowing smile.

The menagerie, it turned out, was not all that reputation claimed, and would hardly have impressed anyone who had enjoyed a trip to a proper zoological garden, such as they had in Europe. Even the children were unimpressed by the worn out lion and mangy camel, having seen better specimens of both at the Tower of London. In addition, there were several colorful birds missing some of their plumage, snakes, log-like crocodiles in fetid water, and a variety of antelope and mountain goats, all kept in close pens. The star of the show was a single aging elephant, who seemed to lack the spirit to do more than occasionally raise its trunk enough to consume a little hay.

Darcy watched Elizabeth's face as she inspected the curious creatures. "Have you ever seen a lion before?"

"Only in pictures." She smiled slightly. "Even my cousins have broader experience than I."

"It's not a very impressive lion."

"So I gather from Maggie's and Andrew's rather disparaging comments. He is not, to be sure, so fearsome looking as the illustrations I have seen. Neither is the elephant."

"I suspect, however, that you would rather see a live elephant that is like this one, boring though he may be, than one charging in full battle rage."

She laughed. "True. Although… although I do think it would be a magnificent sight."

Darcy longed to tell her that he would take her anywhere in world, to see anything, but it was too soon, of course. The proposal he had never yet made ached within him, but the memory of Elizabeth's scathing words in the boat was too recent. They had come a long way, he knew, in the days since, further than during their entire previous acquaintance, but she wasn't ready to receive his addresses just yet. "Should we ever encounter a charging elephant," he managed to say, "I will be certain to retire and leave you the best view in the house."

She shook her head. "Mr. Darcy, I begin to suspect you of teasing. It is a skill I had not known you possessed."

"One, perhaps, I am learning from you." He met her eyes. "You have given me many lessons which I am endeavoring to learn."

At that her eyes grew very wide. He was just casting around in his mind for some further expression of regard which would not be too forward when a voice sounded from across the room. "_Yoo-hoo_!" Mr. and Miss Bingley had arrived.

"My dear Mr. Darcy!" cried Miss Bingley as she hurried close. "The moment we returned to the hotel and found out you had gone to call on the Gardiners we felt we absolutely must do the same, and then when Mrs. Gardiner told us you had all come here, why, of course we followed!" She latched onto his free arm. "What a nasty, smelly place! I can't think why anyone should ever want to look at wild beasts, but of course it was so good of you to indulge the others." She gave Elizabeth a condescending glance. "Miss Eliza."

Elizabeth began to quietly withdraw her hand from Darcy's arm, but he pressed it against his side with his elbow and gave her a beseeching look. Again she colored faintly, but made no further attempt to leave. "Miss Bingley. How surprised I was to hear from Mr. Darcy that you had arrived, and just this morning, too! Are you not fatigued from your trip?"

"Not at all, I assure you. And you may imagine my surprise when I learned that you and your… er, delightful relatives are staying here in Morecastle, of all places!"

"Indeed. It's a remarkable coincidence, is it not?"

"Remarkable."

Darcy rolled his eyes in Bingley's direction to find him predictably preoccupied with his Miss Bennet. The children were all clustered around their father, pointing at a bedraggled-tailed ostrich, but then Andrew turned and came their way. "Do come look, Mr. Darcy," he begged. "And you too, Lizzy. It's the biggest bird I ever saw and they say it lays eggs as big as my head!"

"Well, perhaps not quite that large," answered Darcy, willingly leading (or in Miss Bingley's case, nearly dragging) the ladies in that direction. "Ostrich eggs are certainly large though, and very tough. I have some at Pemberley. Perhaps you'll get a chance to see them some day." Miss Bingley started quite noticeably at this hint, and Elizabeth almost did the same.

In looking distastefully away from the ungainly bird, Miss Bingley got her first truly good look at Elizabeth's face. "Why, Miss Elizabeth!" she exclaimed with malicious pleasure. "My dear, what happened to your face? You must be so mortified to appear in public like that!"

"To tell the truth I mostly forget about it. My companions, after all, do not mind, and what does it matter what anyone else thinks?"

Miss Bingley looked honestly shocked at such a view, but Darcy smiled and said, "You told me once, I believe, that your courage rises in the face of possible intimidation."

"Indeed it does. My walking in public with bruises on my face is one more proof of my general brazenness, I suppose."

Miss Bingley opened her mouth to agree as to Miss Elizabeth's brazenness, but Darcy spoke before her. "Not at all. You are not brazen, but sensible, and lacking in that superficial vanity which so many women allow to control their every action."

Elizabeth looked at him a moment with a curious little smile around her lips. "Well," she replied slowly, "I was only tolerable to begin with."

This time when Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, Miss Bingley cut him off. "I wish you would take me to see the lion, Mr. Darcy! I do adore lions! Such magnificent beasts of prey!"

"You won't adore this one," said Darcy.

"Do you find you have a special affinity for beasts of prey, Miss Bingley?" asked Elizabeth.

"Affinity?" repeated that lady, as Darcy strove to hide a smile. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, _Eliza_."

"My mistake… Caro."

At this point Darcy felt it wise to seek conversation with the larger group.

~%~

The trip to the menagerie proceeded along rather comical lines for Elizabeth, as she watched Miss Bingley attempt to anticipate Mr. Darcy's opinion on each of the animals they viewed. The lady could scarcely contain her natural disgust, but would immediately wax eloquent on their beauty or strength or grace if she thought it might earn his agreement. If he went on to disagree with her, she reversed herself without the slightest blush, forgetting her past opinions as effortlessly as she discarded them. As tenaciously as Miss Bingley clung to Darcy's arm, so he clung to Elizabeth's. If Bingley's sister was determined to make her preference known, then so was he.

The afternoon ended with eating ices at a local confectioner's shop. There, conversation went merrily and Darcy continued to direct his attentions pointedly to Elizabeth. Even Mr. Bingley was beginning to wake up to the nature of his friend's interest in Miss Bennet's sister, and Elizabeth found herself blushing rosily at all the knowing and amazed looks directed their way. Yet she began to realize that she was jealous for his attention, and whenever he was drawn into conversation with someone else she had to fight the impulse to interject, just to bring his eyes back on her. How such a complete reversal of sentiment had been effected in such a short time she couldn't tell, but the more Miss Bingley attempted to dig her polished fingernails into his arm and his heart, the more determined she became to assert her own claims. Miss Bingley, she thought, did not know at all how to do it. She was too obvious and flattering. Mr. Darcy did not like flattery, he liked an honest challenge, a quick wit, an original opinion. He liked to be laughed at—something Miss Bingley seemed to regard as sacrilege—provided it was done cleverly, and did not wish for dishonest praise.

"I wonder you have never sought a seat in Parliament, Mr. Darcy. I would feel so much better about the future of our nation if I knew it was in your hands."

"I don't care for speech making, ma'am."

"I am sure your speeches would be superlatively excellent!"

"Though filled with four-syllable words, if his friend is to be believed. You don't suppose it would try the intelligence of our MPs to decipher them, do you?"

"Try the intelligence of our MPs indeed, Miss Eliza! Why, the most brilliant minds in the nation are in Parliament. Just because you would struggle to understand Mr. Darcy does not mean that they would."

"Actually, Miss Bingley," said Darcy, but looking at Elizabeth, "I think the case is in the reverse—I think Miss Bennet understands me perfectly well. It is I who must struggle to keep up with her." He cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are the one who should run for Parliament."

Miss Bingley turned an unattractive shade of red and gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "Women run for parliament? Mr. Darcy, you're only funning!"

"I'm sure he is," agreed Elizabeth, her eyes still locked with his. "Astonishing, isn't it?"

With such exchanges as these, it's not surprising that Miss Bingley did not enjoy the stay in the confectionary shop as much as the others. It further infuriated her to see Miss _Maggie Gardiner_ treat Mr. Darcy with such familiarity and occupy his attention for a full five minutes on the subject of which flavor of ice was the best, an exchange which ended in the most ridiculous fashion, with Mr. Darcy ordering a whole round of fresh ices in every flavor so that they could taste them all! Mr. Gardiner shook his head at such extravagance but allowed it, and the whole table participated in the tasting except Miss Bingley; what did she care about ices when Darcy was paying attention to everyone but her?

"Well, Mr. Darcy," concluded Elizabeth, as she sat back with a sigh, "you are right."

His brows shot up. "I am?"

She laughed at his surprised tone. "Yes. Strawberry is definitely the best."

"Ah. Well, it is a comfort to be right in something, I suppose."

"Mr. Darcy is always right! How can you insinuate that he is not always right?"

"I insinuated nothing."

"No man may be always right, Miss Bingley."

"Well, you are right as often as it is possible for any man to be!" she declared. "Any time you are wrong, it is not your fault at all, I am sure."

"I need not ask you if you agree with Miss Bingley's assessment of my rightness," he said, addressing Elizabeth.

She blushed a little. "I do not believe my opinion on that subject is worth seeking."

"Why not?"

"Because it is constantly changing. Indeed," she almost whispered, looking into his eyes, "I know not what to think from one moment to the next."

Darcy smiled, looking well satisfied.

Miss Bingley jerked her hand up suddenly, knocking one small bowl, with its remaining puddle of cherry red liquid, right into the front of Elizabeth's dress. "Oh, Miss Elizabeth, I am so sorry!"

Elizabeth jumped a little bit, and pressed a napkin fruitlessly against the brilliant stain. "Oh dear, Lizzy," said Jane sympathetically. Bingley reproached his sister for her carelessness, and Darcy just glared.

Miss Bingley apologized profusely and charmingly offered to accompany her back to her house to change her attire. Darcy insisted on escorting them, then Mr. Gardiner decided it was time for the children to go home, and soon enough everyone was piling back into the carriages. There was little Elizabeth could do about her immediate appearance; although she had been wearing a spencer, the sticky juice had landed just below it. It was somewhat mortifying and rather uncomfortable. She did not know if Miss Bingley had done it on purpose, but it was impossible not to feel that her clumsiness must have been in proportion to her jealousy.

The whole way back Miss Bingley chattered brightly to Mr. Darcy, who answered only in monosyllables. Upon arrival, she followed Elizabeth up the stairs and into her bedchamber, despite her insistence that she required no assistance.

"No, really, my dear," she said, "I simply must help you. I can't think how I came to be so clumsy. You must have been absolutely _humiliated_—especially when you consider the state of your face. Why, I would have died of shame!"

"Miss Bingley," said Elizabeth, reaching the end of her endurance, "women die from many causes, but not, I think, from shame! While I am aware that you think me shame_less_, there are certain things which I would personally feel far more ashamed of than an appearance which has become marred through no fault of my own—if," she glared at her, "you take my meaning!"

Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. "I haven't the slightest idea."

"I think you do. Now if you please, I require privacy!" And before she knew what was happening, Miss Bingley found herself alone in the hallway.

She went back downstairs, where she found Mr. Darcy standing in the hall. He scowled at the sight of her. "That Eliza Bennet," she sniffed, "has no concept of forgiveness. I said I was sorry, but she practically shut the door in my face!"

He stalked away, even as a bevy of children and adults erupted through the front door. The entire time that the four Gardiner children were being ushered upstairs by their nanny and Jane, and Charles and Mr. Gardiner, both talking rapidly, took off their coats and repaired to the parlor, Mr. Darcy retained a firm and forbidding demeanor. Miss Bingley tried making a few remarks which she fancied were particularly Eliza-like in their sprightliness, but he did not respond. In the end, he left her alone and joined the others.

When Elizabeth came back downstairs attired in a fresh gown, Mr. Darcy was lounging in a chair listening to the other men's conversation. Upon her entrance he stood quickly to his feet, and went to inquire after her wellbeing and escort her to a seat near him. Neither Mr. nor Miss Bingley had ever observed him pay any woman other than his sister such attention, and Mr. Bingley was so surprised that he stopped talking mid-sentence and sat with his mouth open—that is, until the other Miss Bennet appeared behind her, at which event he also sprang up and went to attend her. Miss Bingley screwed up her mouth like it had a bad taste in it.

Elizabeth was also very conscious of the deliberate and pointed attentions that were being paid her by the tall and usually taciturn gentleman. A day ago they would have still flustered her, but today she could only feel happiness. "Well, my attire is fixed even if my face isn't," she said lightly.

He smiled at her, a warm look in his eyes. "Your face will heal soon enough. I think you must fear it looks much worse than it does." He leaned forward a little. "It is still a source of distress to me that such a thing happened when you were under my care. I assure you," he paused, "I make it a point to be very attentive to those under my care. They usually have no cause for complaint."

"I am sure you do, Mr. Darcy," she murmured. "I do not hold you responsible for what occurred."

"You are generous."

"Sometimes. Other times," she looked into his eyes seriously, "I have been known to be very ungenerous—even without cause."

He swallowed. "I am sure you would always have cause, Miss Elizabeth."

"So, Miss Eliza," interjected Miss Bingley in an overloud voice at that precise moment. She sat down as close to them as she could get. "I understand you have been from home for quite some time!"

"Not as long as my sister, Miss Bingley. But then, I'm sure you know that."

"Tell me, is the regiment still at Meryton?"

Darcy frowned.

"Yes," said Elizabeth carelessly, "but they are to remove to Brighton shortly, so I expect they shall be gone by the time we return."

"How sorry your family will be, to be sure! You don't suppose your sisters will utterly break their hearts over it, do you?" Miss Bingley dearly wanted to mention Mr. Wickham, but dared not do so in Darcy's presence.

"I imagine every young girl thinks herself heartbroken at some point, but it is a form of heartbreak that rarely lasts."

"Have you?" asked Darcy suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Have you ever thought yourself heartbroken?"

"Well…" she pondered this. "There was that one shopkeeper's son…" she saw Darcy attempt to conceal his dismay and laughed. "He was all of five and twenty and I was only ten, but he was terribly handsome and romantic looking. I was thoroughly smitten with him, and when I heard he had married the butcher's daughter I was as heartbroken as you please, for a week at least. I believe these days he is running a shop of his own in the next town over, with his wife and several children; the last time I saw him, he had lost three of his front teeth, and was sporting a truly impressive and ever increasing girth. My escape was fortunate indeed."

"Is that truly all?" he asked. "Are the squires in Hertfordshire so slow that not one of them has courted your interest?"

She studied her hands for a moment. "I believe it is more that they are so poor that not one of them could afford to court my interest."

"Such a pity for you," said Miss Bingley. Elizabeth flushed—she had momentarily forgotten the other woman's proximity. "I feel sorry for your situation, I really do."

Elizabeth did not reply, mortified, and Darcy looked angry. Miss Bingley attempted not to smirk.

"Miss Bennet," said Darcy unexpectedly, "I wonder if you would be interested in visiting the Lorreys with me this afternoon."

She perked up. "This very afternoon?"

"Yes. If your uncle agrees I could take you—with a maid to accompany you, of course—to check on the welfare of his sister. Your assistance would be invaluable in talking with Mrs. Lorrey and determining the family's needs."

"Why, Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley, "you need not disturb Miss Bennet, who, after all, is a relative stranger to us. If you need a woman's advice, I would be pleased to accompany you."

"Thank you, but Miss Bennet is already aware of the particulars of the situation, and I believe her unique conversational gifts and charm may be just what is required."

"I would be honored," affirmed Elizabeth.

An hour later they were setting out. The carriage took them through the middle-class part of town, towards the docks. Gradually the homes grew smaller, the buildings dingier, the air more acrid. Elizabeth shivered slightly.

"There is nothing to alarm you." Mr. Darcy spoke softly.

"I am not alarmed for myself, but for the people who live here—the children especially."

He sighed. "I will not tell you that the misery of the lower classes is not real, for of course it is, and it is a shame on our society that it is allowed to continue. But they are not all miserable. Contentment is often relative to what a person is accustomed to. What might be miserable living conditions for you, as a gentlewoman, can appear comfortable and even pleasing to someone raised differently."

She was silent for a little. "Somehow I think that reflects better on them than on us."

He smiled. "I am sure you are right."

The pulled up eventually in a narrow street, before a house with one door and one window, and another window set directly above. Mr. Darcy instructed his coachman to return in half an hour, and rapped on the door.

It was opened almost immediately by small Tom. "Ma!" he yelled. "It's Mr. Darcy and a lady!"

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, wondering if he would be offended at such a greeting, but he did not appear to be. "How is your sister, Tom?" he asked, removing his hat and stooping to enter.

"The man wi' the potions came yesterday, and Ma said she slept good."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Just then a slight woman, tired looking but still young, came down the steps. "Oh Mr. Darcy, sir, it's so very kind of you to come callin' on us again." She bobbed a curtsey.

"May I introduce Mrs. Lorrey to you?" He said to Elizabeth. "Mrs. Lorrey, this is Miss Bennet, who came with me today."

"Madam." She bobbed another curtsey.

"Please tell me, how is your daughter?" asked Elizabeth.

"A little better since we got the medicine." She rang her hands nervously. "I would offer you some tea if I had any, but I'm afraid—"

"Please, no!" Lizzy laughed lightly. "I have drunk all the tea I can hold today. But I did bring some things from our kitchen, for the children, if you do not object—?" She held up the basket she was carrying.

Mrs. Lorrey assured her that she did not, and together they unpacked the basket, which held a variety of fresh fruit, some meat pies, a bottle of milk, and a few pastries for the children to enjoy. Tom immediately demanded one and was scolded for his impoliteness, but received it anyway and promptly ran outside with it. His mother looked apologetically at her visitors. "He's a bit rough in his manners, but he's a good boy."

"I know that he is," said Elizabeth. Dredging her mind for information about illnesses, she inquired after the girls' symptoms, listened to a list of them, and eventually was invited upstairs to visit the invalid herself. She was very glad to do this, and found the girl looking pale and listless and a little feverish under her thin blanket. "Do you need another blanket?" she asked the mother.

It was a bit difficult to get Mrs. Lorrey to admit that what their needs were, or to agree to accept further assistance, but Elizabeth held firm and eventually prevailed through appeals to the wellbeing of her children. Then little Nancy woke up and required some assistance with her intimate needs, and Elizabeth went back downstairs on her own.

She expected to find Mr. Darcy waiting in the room below, looking magnificently out of place, but instead, there was a strange and rather large man. He was untidily dressed and helping himself to the food that had so recently been put away in the cupboard.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Elizabeth without thinking. "That is not for you!"

He turned around, and his eyebrows rose. "Well, lookee there," he drawled.

He had a red, unshaven face, and a belligerent look about him. Elizabeth's heart rate increased, but she spoke firmly. "I do not know who you are what you are doing in this house, but those groceries are for Mrs. Lorrey and her two children."

Ignoring her words, he came closer, still holding a half-eaten apple in one fist. "You must be the finest and prettiest young lady I've ever seen 'round 'ere. Wot's yor name?"

"That is none of your concern," she said coldly. "Where is Mr. Darcy?"

"Mister who?" He came closer still, until Elizabeth felt the need to retreat a step. She could smell the liquor on him.

"Mr. Darcy, the gentleman who was here. What have you done with him?"

"I ain't done nothin.' Why don't ya come a little closer, lovey?" He put the hand with the apple, which was attached to a meaty arm, on the wooden rail and leaned into her. Elizabeth turned to run back up the stairs, but he caught her roughly by the wrist. "Do ya know what I think?" he asked, as she struggled to free herself. "I think this mister wotever isn't real. I think yor here all byaselves."

It would have been an excellent time to scream, but Elizabeth didn't think of that. "Unhand me, you cur!" she hissed at him.

He curled his fat lip. "Cur I am, eh! You'll be singin' a different tune soon enuff!"

He set his foot on the step next to Elizabeth's. She promptly stomped on it, as hard as she could, but her soft shoes made no impression on his cracked boots and he laughed. He tried to put an arm around her and she slapped him, again as hard as she could. That replaced his laugh with an ugly scowl and a curse. He pulled her in and Elizabeth, still fighting, braced to scream as loudly as she could.

~%~

Mr. Darcy had been outside in the street, interviewing Tom about his education and interests, trying to determine what trade he might be best fit for. His manner was clipped and direct and Tom answered with wide eyes, but at the end the severe gentleman unbent, smiled at him, and gave him some pennies to buy a further treat at the bakery some time. After this Darcy stood surveying the street with a critical eye, his landlord's mind chronicling the various repairs and improvements it required but would never receive, until finally he turned with a sigh to reenter the house.

It wasn't until he was pushing on the door that he realized there were strange sounds within. It swung open and to his horror, he perceived a strange hulking figure of a man standing on the stairs with Elizabeth in his grasp. He could not see her very well, but she appeared to be struggling, but was hopelessly outmatched. It took him a few seconds to absorb was he was seeing, then he reached for the handle of his walking stick with a hand that shook just slightly, twisted it, and pulled out the blade within. In a few steps he was across the room, and he pressed the tip of the blade into the man's ribs. "Unhand her, you cur!" he forced through his teeth.

The ruffian glanced over his shoulder and let Elizabeth go so abruptly that she stumbled back and nearly fell. "Now, now then," said the man, putting his hands up and backing away. "I didin mean no 'arm."

Darcy didn't even deign to answer that, just maneuvered the man back against the table Unconsciously, he raised an arm behind him, taking on a fencing stance. "Do you have any idea," he asked harshly, "what would be done to you if you despoiled a gentlewoman?"

"I jus' wanted a kiss," the other protested.

"You assaulted the daughter of a gentleman," he insisted, applying a little more pressure.

"I didin mean no 'arm," he repeated.

Just then there was a small shriek from the top of the stairs, where Mrs. Lorrey had finally appeared. "Joseph!" she cried. "What have you done?"

"Do you know this man?" asked Darcy, his brows furrowed and his lips drawn tight in concentration.

"He's my brother," she admitted, wringing her hands. "I told him not to come around no more. He's a terrible bad influence on Tom." She saw Elizabeth, standing with one hand cradled in the other. "Oh miss, he's never gone and hurt you, has he?"

"I am well," said Elizabeth. Her voice was steady.

Mrs. Lorrey marched down and faced her brother angrily. "Why do you always have to be bringing trouble on our house?" she demanded bitterly. "Mr. Darcy, sir, my family's always been decent, respectable folks, all except him. He about killed our mither with his ways."

"That's not true!" protested Joseph hotly.

"It is and you know it!" She turned to Mr. Darcy. "He's brought shame on me all my life. Ever since he was a boy he's been gettin' in trouble, and nothin' has taught him a lesson yet."

Darcy's eyes had strayed to her face as she spoke, and all at once the large man leapt at him, knocking the swordstick across the room. He was hopelessly outweighed but grappled with him, aware for a few moments of nothing more than his large hands and Mrs. Lorrey's scream. Then, as swiftly as it began, it was over. Joseph crumpled into a heap at his feet and he looked up to see Elizabeth, eyes blazing like a vengeful amazon, brandishing a heavy iron poker. His mouth dropped open.

"Oh, well done, Miss Bennet!" cried Mrs. Lorrey. "I've often wanted to do the same thing," she assured them.

Darcy shut his mouth with a snap. "Why in the blazes didn't you scream?"

Elizabeth looked at him in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"

He took the poker from her almost roughly. "Did it even occur to you to call for help—to raise your voice at all? Or were you simply going to let him have his way with you while I never even knew you were in distress?"

"I didn't know where you were."

"Did you seriously think that I would have gone far? I was right out there"—he pointed with the poker—"talking to Tom."

She seemed confused. "But—how did he get in then?"

"They do have a back door." He gestured sweepingly.

Looking to her right, Elizabeth saw that, indeed, there appeared to be a back door to the small house, leading undoubtedly to an alley. She turned her eyes back to Darcy, who was still looking like a thundercloud. "I was about to scream," she said weakly.

"Oh, really? How—"

"Mr. Darcy?" asked Mrs. Lorrey.

He glanced at her impatiently.

"He's beginning to stir." Sure enough, Joseph twitched and groaned.

"Oh, good heavens!" said Darcy. "I'm not going to hit him with this again, if that's what you're hoping." He set the poker down and retrieved his sword from the corner. "We had best decide what to do with him."

Elizabeth looked dubiously at the body of her attacker. "He was drunk."

"A poor excuse." He turned to Mrs. Lorrey. "Since he is your brother, and it is you who must live either with or without him, I will give you the choice. If you wish, I will have him taken before the magistrate and prosecuted. Or, he can be left in the gaol overnight to sober up, and be released in the morning."

The lady didn't answer for some time. "They would hang him, wouldn't they?"

"He would be hanged, deported, or set free."

"I can't say." She wrung her hands. "I can't say what should be done. He's a mean drunkard, and that's the truth, but he's my brother. I can't tell you to have my brother hanged!"

"Of course you can't!" cried Elizabeth. "Surely, Mr. Darcy, there is another option!"

"There is deportation, as I mentioned. He would live, but his life would not be an easy one. Or I could try to have him prosecuted on a lesser charge. That would get him a whipping, or the stocks."

"He's had those before, and they didn't do no good."

"Then it must be deportation or nothing." Seeing her struggle, he spoke gently. "No one shall blame you, either way. He is, as you say, your brother, and childhood bonds can lead one to overlook a great deal."

Suddenly she straightened her back. "No. No, he's been given one chance after another, all his life, and he's done nothin' but take advantage. He's not learned better, and I can't have him comin' around and corruptin' Tom—nor doing harm to others." She looked at Miss Bennet. "You're not the first, Miss. None of the others could afford to take him to court."

Darcy's look had grown respectful. "I will take care of it, Mrs. Lorrey. Is there any way to get a constable here quickly?"

"I'll send Tom," she said, and went to call him. The lad had heard nothing of the rumpus within, and his eyes grew wide with excitement at the sight of his uncle on the floor.

"Is that a real sword? Cor!"

"Tom, I would like you to—"

"You laid 'im out real good, Mr. Darcy!"

"Actually, it was Miss Bennet who had that honor. Now, we need—"

"Miss Bennet?" Tom looked at her with new respect. "Did you really?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth, unaccountably blushing.

"Wait until I tell the boys!" He turned as if to run off.

"Tom!" said Darcy commandingly. He halted. "Tom, we need you to fetch a constable for us. Now. Do you know where to go?"

"Yessir. There's one that alwas patrols down the street over there, and the lock-up's just some blocks t'other way. I knows cause I watch 'im take 'im in all—"

"For heaven's sake, Tom," said his mother. "Stop jabbering and listen to the gentleman. Your uncle'll be awake before you know it, and then where will we be?"

"Will Mr. Darcy hold his sword on 'im again?" he asked hopefully.

Darcy drew himself up to his full and imposing height. "Tom. The constable. Now!"

When he had gone at last, Darcy looked at the ladies. "I wish you both to go upstairs until he is taken away."

"But—" protested Elizabeth.

"He could regain consciousness at any time. I do not wish to worry about your safety."

"What about your safety?"

"I have a weapon. I can handle him."

"Like you handled him last time?" She put her hands on her hips. "May I remind you that it was Iwho rescued you?"

"After I rescued you."

"Which suggests that it is unwise for either of us to be alone with him."

"That was before he was injured. He will be disoriented and likely have a headache of terrific proportions, while I will be calm and prepared. Your presence could only be a distraction."

"I have no intention of distracting you."

Darcy looked at her for a moment. "You always distract me, Miss Bennet," he said softly.

He found it rather gratifying that this sentiment discomposed her so much that she agreed to go upstairs without further argument.

~%~

It seemed an eternity before young Tom returned with a broad shouldered constable in tow. Joseph came slowly and blearily to consciousness, but the sight of Darcy's gleaming blade and grim face seemed enough to subdue him for now. Then Darcy's carriage arrived, and his horrified servants came hastily to his aid—all but the young maid, who threatened hysterics. By the time the ruffian had been carted off—in Darcy's carriage—Mrs. Lorrey had taken the girl upstairs, if only to remove her from Darcy's annoyed notice.

When Darcy came back from watching the carriage roll off, Elizabeth was alone, and sitting at the table. She looked vulnerable and young, and all the anxiety and stress of the last hour sent emotions rushing through him in uncontrollable waves. He opened his mouth and, "As for you, Miss Bennet," he began, prepared to bitterly castigate her on the subject of girls who accosted strange men while alone—to say absolutely anything that would prevent her from ever doing such a dangerous thing again—but broke off abruptly. For the first time he had noticed her hands on the table, fingers curled protectively around one wrist. In another instant he was by her side, peeling them back with a very gentle touch. When he saw the finger-shaped bruises, he swallowed hard.

Elizabeth eyed him uncertainly. Was he still angry with her? She realized that he had some cause.

For some moments he stood completely still then, with a sudden motion, covered his face with his hand. He was fighting for composure, she realized, and without thinking, turned her hand on the table into his other one, and clasped it. They remained like that for some moments, then Darcy lifted his head. "And to think that earlier I was boasting about my ability to take care of you!" he said bitterly. "Now I think that for your own safety you ought to stay as far away from me as you can!"

She sighed. "What happened was not your fault."

"You said that before, yet how is it, then, that I take you on a carriage ride, and the axle breaks, you are thrown to ground and suffer a cut and bruised face—and then I take you to visit a widow and her two children, and you are attacked and have your wrist brutalized?" His mouth twisted and he looked away. "Your uncle will certainly never let me near you again."

"You were right when you said I should have screamed. The only reason I can say that I did not was that I did not really believe that he would harm me—and I truly was preparing to scream when you came in."

"If I had remained in the house you would not have had to suffer such an indignity at all. It was unpardonable of me to leave you alone like that."

"You had no reason to believe me in danger."

He shook his head emphatically, as his early anger at her turned quickly on himself. He looked down at the bruised limb, turning it over again, more touched than he could say that she was allowing him that liberty. "Does this hurt?" he asked, sitting down and moving her hand gently.

"A very little."

"You may have a mild sprain. It would not be surprising." He sighed again.

Elizabeth reached as if to touch his face, stopping herself just in time. Seeming to recognize the gesture, he quickly caught her free hand and kissed the fingers. "I am well, truly," she said.

"How are you are not weeping or having hysterics? Any other woman would require a week at least to recover from such an ordeal, yet you sit here calmly."

She smiled faintly. "Perhaps it is further proof of my lack of refinement."

"Or your courage and strength of spirit."

Suddenly her smile deepened, and she raised an eyebrow provocatively. "Or perhaps it is just that I am still in a state of astonishment over your having a sword."

He flushed red. "My cousin the colonel gave it to me some years ago," he said. "Though I fear my performance was sadly lacking in comparison to yours." His gaze moved pointedly to the hearth. "I almost thought Hippolyta herself had appeared to defend me."

Now it was her turn to redden, though she looked pleased. "A woman does what she must."

"No, an ordinary woman does what she must. You, my dear Miss Bennet, do so much more."

She grinned back at him, and somehow their hands met again, and clasped. "I am so deeply sorry that this happened to you," he said with earnestness.

"I shall recover, I believe. I only wish you would not blame yourself too much."

"I fear that is a futile wish—the blame ought to be mine—but I will try not to distress you by constantly bemoaning my guilt, as some do."

"Yes, that would be considerate of you."

He had to smile, but it did not last long. "Mrs. Lorrey has put me to shame today, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that she had the courage and clarity to do what I never have."

Elizabeth frowned, studying his face. "I don't understand."

"Wickham." He spoke the word softly. "He has no doubt done more harm than Joseph ever did, though with greater finesse. And I, who had the power to stop him, have rather chosen to pay his debts and keep his viciousness secret, for the sake of guarding my own privacy... and because I still remember when we were friends."

He looked so very vulnerable then, so handsome and sad and unexpectedly young, that Elizabeth would surely have done something bold and surprising which would have resulted in it all being settled right then, but Mrs. Lorrey came back downstairs with Hannah, and the carriage returned, so there were no more confidences that day.


	5. Part 5: Flowers and Ruins

**Part 5: Flowers and Ruins**

The Gardiners were aghast when Mr. Darcy related what had occurred at the Lorrey's house. Darcy humbly begged their pardon for not taking proper care of their niece, and while they assured him that they did not blame him, he found it difficult to fully believe it. Who would not blame him?

He was almost beside himself. He wanted desperately to speak to Elizabeth again, to profess his love properly and beg her to marry him—to offer his affection and name and fortune as some compensation for what she had suffered. But the very fact of her recent travails kept him silent. How could he press her, at a time like this—when her bruises had not even faded yet? Surely it would be ungentlemanly to importune her with his addresses. And yet it hurt to be around her and remain silent. While he did not know what answer she would give him, just to speak his feelings would be a relief, and she deserved to know how ardently he loved and admired her.

When Bingley and he called the next day, Darcy found that Elizabeth had been ordered by her aunt to remain resting in her room until dinner. He was glad of that, even as he longed to see her and to ascertain for himself that she was well. He sat morosely through most of the visit, making little conversation. Then he looked up to find Jane Bennet's soft gaze on him, and a few minutes later, she made some excuse, and came to sit near him.

"I am sure my sister would wish me to give you her greetings," she said.

"How is she?" He leaned forward in his seat. "Tell me, truly—you know her better than anyone else, Miss Bennet. How is she recovering?"

She smiled understandingly. "I am not sure recovering is a proper word, unless you refer to her very slight injuries. Lizzy declares that she is perfectly well, and that being confined to her room on a beautiful day in a seaside town is a punishment she has done nothing to warrant."

"Of course she would say so, but you must be able to see beyond that. I cannot imagine her surviving yesterday without some ill effects."

"I looked in on her shortly before you arrived and she was asleep, so I think that she was rather tired, but her spirits are excellent. Lizzy…" she hesitated. "You cannot expect Lizzy to react as other girls might. She is strong and brave, and she can never remain unhappy for long."

"You really believe her to be well, then?"

"I do."

He sat back, feeling a little reassured. Although he did not place the highest trust in Miss Jane Bennet's perceptiveness, her certainty was calming. The call ended shortly thereafter. As much as both men would have preferred to have remained for the day, the Gardiners had other things to do besides entertain their nieces' callers.

Miss Bingley appeared to be in a sour mood when they returned, but Darcy did not stay to hear why. Summoning Winker he went out again. He went by the Lorrey house to check on its occupants, and, having discovered the address of the local magistrate, called to give his evidence and discuss fobbing off the brutish Joseph on to some other poor continent. After that he went into the more fashionable shopping district where he acquired a shameless pile of bribes—trinkets and sweets for the children, French bon-bons for the ladies, and high quality cigars for Mr. Gardiner (who smoked them furtively in the garden when his wife was distracted). For Elizabeth he purchased the most luscious arrangement of spring blooms he could find, and had them delivered with a card bearing his initials. He did not trust himself to write more. Passing a jeweller's shop, he went in and could not help choosing one or two pretty things he thought would look well on her, while not knowing if she would ever be willing to receive them from him. Any fashionable young woman of the _ton_ would regard such gifts as suitable homage, but Elizabeth would see a greater significance in them and, he knew, would not accept them unless she was willing to accept him too.

Thinking fondly of his sister, he bought a pearl hairclip for her, and asked that it be sent to her house in London. In the next shop over he found some pretty little boxes whose lids had been painted with scenes of the Morecastle beach, and, without noticeable hesitation, chose three, thinking that Elizabeth could not refuse to take one if the other ladies did too. Belatedly, and with reluctance, he returned for a fourth, knowing that it would be simply too rude to exclude Miss Bingley. While her recent actions had not left him feeling charitable towards her, she was a friend of some years, and had been a very gracious hostess to him last fall. He could not slight her so openly.

This orgy of spending having somewhat relieved his feelings, he climbed back into his laden carriage, and directed them to drive towards the ocean. There, he spent some time walking along the seawall, watching the waves crash and the seagulls circle overhead.

~%~

Back in her rented bedchamber, Elizabeth woke up. She lay on her side for a few moments, letting her eyes adjust. It was brighter than when she had fallen asleep, even with the curtains drawn. Checking the watch on her nightstand, she found that she had been asleep for quite three hours. It seemed Aunt Gardiner had been right when she said she needed rest.

As her eyes moved around the room they came to rest on a large vase overflowing with flowers; someone had placed it on the dressing table. They had not been there before. She sat up, and approached curiously.

It was truly a magnificent arrangement, and all the blossoms seasonal. There were lilies of the valley, pale and regal and spikey; some tall, white narcissi, with their yellow, cup-like centers; hyacinths heavy with crowding blossoms, deep purple pansies, and forget-me-nots like tiny blue stars. With a rapidly beating heart she touched the pansies and forget-me-nots. They were well-known symbols of fidelity and love—as was the ivy that trailed down the side. Something stiff brushed her fingers—it was a heavy, cream-colored card with her name on one side, and the initials F.D. on the other, all written in a firm, precise hand.

She remembered now that Lady Catherine had once informed them that her youngest nephew had been named after his mother's family, the Fitzwilliams. _Fitzwilliam Darcy_, she thought, tracing the letters. The name was as elegant and aristocratic as he was.

She had received flowers before, small bouquets from local boys after a dance. There had not been many, but enough that she did not feel it outside her experience. No man, however, had ever sent her anything like this, lush and vibrant and entirely extravagant. She knew he must still be suffering guilt over the events of the previous day, but it could not be only her fancy that told her he meant more by it. His behavior over the last few days had been so particular as to raise the hopes of any woman. In fact, she verily believed, as she fingered one velvety petal, that she had the power, if she chose, to bring on a proposal of marriage.

Throwing open the drapes, Elizabeth sat down at the dressing table and scrutinized her countenance in the mirror. It was now five days since the curricle accident, and the bruise on her right cheek was fading into splotches. To her eyes it did not look attractive, but then, Mr. Darcy had never found her beauty arresting. She could only accept his word when he had said he still found her appearance charming. _Charming_, she thought. _Not handsome, charming._ Brushing her hair out, Elizabeth pulled it up with a ribbon and wondered if that fashion could be considered charming.

~%~

"I say, Darcy," began Bingley almost as soon as he reentered the inn, "Miss Bennet and I were speaking today, and we would still like to visit those ruins we set out to see on Wednesday."

"No more curricles, Bingley," said Darcy wearily.

"No, no, of course not! With my sister here it would not be convenient anyway. We thought perhaps we could take the barouche, if you don't mind. Surely it would seat five."

"Are the Gardiners still set against going?"

"We asked them, of course, but Mrs. Gardiner said it really was impossible at this time. Mr. Gardiner does not wish to be parted from his family when a separation is expected."

Darcy thought about that a moment. "They really are terrible chaperones."

Bingley laughed. "I know, but that's convenient for us, isn't it?"

Darcy agreed without thinking, and then colored when Bingley laughed even harder. "Come now," persuaded his friend, "you need not pretend. You are as set on Miss Elizabeth as I am on her sister."

"Yes," he admitted.

"That is excellent! How long have you felt this way?"

"For far longer than I have been willing to acknowledge. And when we met in Kent, my feelings increased all the more, but she left before I could act."

"Did you know she was here?"

"No, not with any certainty. I knew she was going with her uncle to the coast, but that was all."

"Then it was the most marvelous of coincidences, for both of us."

Darcy smiled wryly. "Except that _you_ have not managed to upset _your_ Miss Bennet in a carriage, or to take her somewhere she might be assaulted by ruffians. She has emerged unscathed from your courtship so far, while Elizabeth has suffered nothing but disaster from practically the first moment we met them on the beach."

"Oh, certainly she does not regard it in that way! Why, if you ask me, Darcy, Miss Elizabeth likes your company much better now than she did when we were in Hertfordshire."

He frowned. "Was it apparent to you, then, that she did not like me?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. She seemed inclined to be offended by you."

"Inclined to be offended," he muttered. And he had been inclined to be offensive.

Bingley went on, explaining the details of what he and Jane had discussed, and Darcy had little to do but agree. They would go the following day, provided Miss Elizabeth felt well enough. There had been some tentative talk of dining together that evening as well, but the Gardiners had felt that a quiet evening was desirable before an all-day outing, especially for Elizabeth. So Darcy and Bingley, Miss Bingley and the two Miss Bennets would all go together in one carriage tomorrow, with yet another picnic lunch stowed away. They would explore the ruins, eat, and return in a leisurely fashion when everyone was ready. "What could go wrong?"

"What could go wrong?" he repeated. "Do you _remember_ our first trip out there?"

Mr. Bingley laughed. "Very well indeed. But we shall be very well prepared in case of rain—not that I think it shall rain—and for the rest, you cannot possibly think it will happen again."

"I think it all too likely that some other horrible accident will befall us."

"Nonsense! You mustn't let a couple of mischances spoil your humor. All will be well, you'll see. It shall be the most delightful day possible!"

~%~

Elizabeth certainly looked delightful, when they finally saw each other the next morning. She was wearing a hat he hadn't seen before, of blonde straw, with a wine colored ribbon that somehow made her eyes more vibrant and her skin more delicate. He found himself staring with fascination at where the ribbon fell, over the dark tendrils at her ear and the line of her jaw, down her neck.

Beneath the hat, Elizabeth wondered at Mr. Darcy's mien. He looked so solemn; she wanted to make him laugh, or smile at the least. She hoped the events of the last few days had not irrevocably convinced him of her unsuitability; after all, what kind of lady hit men over the head with pokers? Their eyes met and she smiled shyly at him; to her relief, his countenance softened noticeably, and he came to her side. "Miss Elizabeth."

She liked the way he said her name; it seemed not so ordinary as she often thought . "I hope you are well, sir."

"I am, but I have been very concerned about you." He looked at her penetratingly. "Did you receive adequate rest yesterday?"

"Indeed I did! I slept for so long I felt positively indolent and spoiled when I finally rose. And..." she paused, growing more self-conscious. "I must thank you for the flowers. They are"—she searched for the right word—"exquisite."

"Then they do you justice," said Darcy, and she felt suddenly breathless.

"All ready, now?" Mr. Bingley was as cheerful as ever, with Jane smiling sweetly on his arm.

They all clambered into the carriage and set off. The barouche was commodious enough to admit all three ladies across the forward seat. Somehow Miss Bingley ended up uncomfortably situated in the middle, but it wasn't so bad; she was almost amiable to Jane and nearly polite to Elizabeth. Across from them, Mr. Bingley was in high spirits, and even Darcy, though as composed as ever, smiled more than usual. Seated directly opposite him, Elizabeth felt an irresistible urge to try her power. He was not always sedate—she had seen him angered, seen him passionate, seen him act and labor and even fight a man for her sake. He was too calm now; she wanted to disturb him. And yes, though she hardly could admit it to herself, she wanted to allure him.

"I trust your journey along this road will be more pleasant than your last, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Bingley. The carriage shook violently as they jostled over dried mud and ruts.

"I do not know that the last was so very bad," she answered, and gave Darcy the briefest, but most flirtatious of looks. He had been about to speak, but paused, his own eyes widening. Suppressing a satisfied laugh, she turned back to Bingley and continued talking, but every few sentences she would cast Darcy another furtive, provocative look, sometimes very bold, sometimes through her lashes. He did not answer—did not speak at all—but sat in his place, legs elegantly crossed, one arm resting along the open edge of the carriage, his gaze fixed with focused steadiness on her face. This was something—to flirt with only her eyes, to converse with perfect sobriety with one man, while enticing another with glances. The drive took over an hour, and only when the inevitable silence fell did she venture a longer, more proper survey. The only signs of her success were his silent attention and a certain rigidity in his seemingly relaxed posture, but she knew all at once that she had done something that would have certain consequences.

The Bleydon ruins represented the remains of a fifteenth century castle keep, surrounded by a few peripheral structures such as a chapel and a stone-worker's cottage. It was mostly fallen down and over-grown with ivy, featuring primarily a single romantic-looking tower and some picturesque arches. Currently, carpets of bluebells and columbines, foxgloves and celandines filled every cool corner and sunny patch. The ladies could not help exclaiming over the prettiness of it all as the carriage drew up.

When Elizabeth exited, Darcy was there to hand her down. His fingers gripped hers tightly, but Miss Bingley was still waiting for assistance behind her. (Bingley had helped Jane out on his side and then promptly forgotten anyone else.) After giving her a long look, he turned back and did his duty, for which he was rewarded by Miss Bingley taking his arm. "Why, what a charming spot," she said. Darcy turned to Elizabeth, clearly wishing her to have the other arm.

She didn't mean to be contrary or coquettish, but delayed embarrassment swamped her and she could not interpret the expression in his eyes. Had she disgraced herself again by her brazenness? Her uncertainty, his proximity—it was all more than she could handle in the bright sunshine with Miss Bingley looking on. Declining his arm, she walked rather primly beside them, avoiding his direct gaze.

Darcy was exasperated. All his feelings of ardor and tenderness had been aroused to fever pitch by Elizabeth's unmistakable looks, and he had been ready to drag her to a secluded spot at the first opportunity. But now he was stuck with Miss Bingley on his arm and Elizabeth, in bewildering reversal, would neither touch him nor look at him. Bingley, blast him, was off wandering around with _his_ Miss Bennet, blissful and oblivious, while he was left with _his_ sister, and the most teasing woman on the face of the earth!

"Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley, as they wondered slowly amid the ruins, "I wonder if you can tell me the name of this lovely flower here. Your knowledge of botany is so extensive!"

He gave it a cursory glance, and his lips twitched. "I believe, madam, that that is Honesty."

"Well of course it is! I need not lie to compliment you!" She caressed his forearm and smiled intimately.

"He means the flower," said Elizabeth in her ear, and she jumped.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The flower. It is called Honesty."

Miss Bingley's bewildered gaze went from her amused eyes to the purple clusters to Mr. Darcy, who seemed to be looking anywhere but at them. "You are joking me."

"No," said Darcy, staring at something in the region of his toes, "Miss Bennet is correct."

"Well I never heard of a flower called Honesty. It is a most peculiar name for a plant." Her cheeks were flushed, but she held her head up.

"I believe it is not so common in the north as it is here," conceded Elizabeth. "Oh, look!"

The group all directed their attention through the next archway, where Mr. Bingley could be seen solemnly studying some pattern in the stones over the arch itself, while Jane read from a guidebook in her soft voice.

"Jane is addicted to guidebooks," Elizabeth said. "Any time we travel anywhere at all she buys at least three, and must read aloud the entries for every old building or interesting field we pass."

Darcy remembered that he had seen her with one at the menagerie, and smiled. His quest for Elizabeth's affections was necessarily bringing him into the company of her sister, and he found he liked Jane Bennet very well. She became more interesting on closer acquaintance. "She will undoubtedly do wonders for my friend's education. I do not believe I have ever seen him evince an interest in archaeology before."

"Oh, Charles won't remember one thing in ten later on," said Miss Bingley crossly.

"Perhaps not, but even that one may represent an improvement."

Miss Bingley took stock of his complacent expression and attempted to modify her attitude accordingly. "Dear Jane will be good for him, I'm sure. Shall we join them?"

Join them they did, and the group strolled about for a few minutes, weaving between shadow and sun, breathing honeyed air and touching ancient stones with fingers curious or careless by turn. Elizabeth wondered off on her own eventually, and Darcy was not long in excusing himself from Miss Bingley's side. After a short hunt he found Elizabeth standing in a tiny, crumbling chapel, staring at the engraved cross over the altar.

"You need your sister's guidebook." His voice echoed a little.

She started and turned. "It does not require a guidebook to explain the purpose of this place, or the meaning of that symbol."

"No," he agreed. "They are known to all Christians."

She turned back without answering, and he moved to stand next to her. "You're determined to drive me mad, aren't you?" he said conversationally.

"Mad?" She seemed startled. "You cannot think so. I have no such ambition."

An eloquently raised eyebrow was her only answer. She blushed vividly then, torn between mortification and gratification, and cast about for a change of subject. "Please tell me... that man—Joseph. Has it—"

"He has been remanded to prison to await trial."

"So soon?"

He nodded. "The magistrate saw him yesterday, after I gave him my testimony, and also my support for extradition over hanging. It will not be long—he will see a judge and jury within a day or two."

"Oh." They shared a sober silence. "It's disconcerting to think how suddenly a man's life can change forever."

"Yes, and even faster. Men have died with more speed."

Something about his tone caught her attention. "Your father. How did—forgive me, I should not ask."

Darcy smiled wryly at her perceptiveness. "He was thrown from his horse, riding out to see his tenants one day. They determined later that the beast had been stung by a hornet that got caught in the saddle blanket. One day I was in London, with no greater concern than which balls I should attend, and the next I was master of all Pemberley, and guardian to my sister."

"I'm so sorry." The sentiment came simply and naturally. "I had not thought before, what a heavy thing it might be, to be a man in your position. And I know your father was a very good man—my aunt has often spoken of it, since we met you again."

"He was everything kind and amiable," said Darcy. "I miss him often."

Elizabeth thought of her father, how dear he was to her, and how much she would miss him when he, too, was gone.

"I often wonder," began Darcy again, after a minute or so of silence, "how it would have been for Georgiana if my mother were still alive. My sister is... well, she has not your liveliness. Not that I would wish her to be like you, of course, but I fear she may have suffered for—" he paused at her expression. "No, no, I meant no insult!"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I would not wish my sister to be like you! She's... my sister, and you're... not." He gestured futilely.

It was so hard not to laugh. "It's quite all right, Mr. Darcy. You need not explain." He began to look relieved, and she tried to keep a straight face while playing with her gloves. "I am well acquainted with your opinions on my inferiority—I lack true accomplishment, I am merely tolerable—"

"Enough!" he cried, recognizing the half-concealed smirk at last. "Must you insist on mentioning that remark again and again? What is it that you wish? For me to admit that you are the loveliest woman I have ever known?"

Elizabeth gaped and stammered. "Of course not! I—I—"

"Well, you are, Miss Bennet." He stepped towards her. "Although I may have been too blind to perceive it the first night I saw you, I began to admire you almost immediately afterwards, and since then I have come to think of you as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance." He stood over her, clasping his hands determinedly behind his back, staring at her with those intense, dark eyes. "If I have been overly silent in your presence in the past, Elizabeth, it is because I have been too busy contemplating the expression in your eyes or the shape of your lips. If I have appeared cold or curt in my manner it was because I was restraining a desire to say and do things I should not. Your beauty has been a constant presence in my thoughts for months now." He seemed to lean a little closer, as if about to close the space between them. "Now have I said enough, or do you require further reassurance?"

Elizabeth's face was burningly hot by now, her eyes wide. Speechlessly, she shook her head.

"Good." He smiled slightly, ran his eyes lingeringly over her, and turned away. She looked around faintly for a place to sit.

~%~

The moment he began to move away from her, Darcy began to fear that he had been too forward, and that she would now avoid him like the plague. She had driven him to it, stubborn and impertinent woman that she was; it was intolerable that she should believe herself anything less than wholly attractive and enticing to him. But he was unhappily aware that in declaring himself so frankly he may have pushed her too far and lost the rapport they had established in the last few days.

As he emerged through the doorway, the figure of Miss Bingley appeared briefly through the trees opposite. Grimacing, he made good his escape, returning to where Bingley was still listening dutifully as Jane read something about Saxons and Normans—although Darcy noted wryly that his gaze, glazed and mooncalf-like, seemed fixed solely on the curls which caressed the narrator's ear. Miss Bingley reappeared shortly, but as the minutes went by without Elizabeth he began to wonder anxiously if he should have left her, and if he should go back. When she finally walked back through the arch, he breathed an audible sigh of relief and moved towards her without even realizing what he did. For a moment it seemed as if she wasn't going to meet his eye, but then she did, and smiled almost shyly at him. Relief washed through him.

All this time the footmen had been busy arranging blankets and plates and food, and now John appeared to politely indicate that their repast was prepared. He offered Elizabeth his arm, and saw with pleasure how readily she took it. Together they climbed the hill.

It was a delightful spot, under a spreading tree and just elevated enough to afford an excellent view of the ruins. The cold meats and cheeses, the pastries, the delicate strawberries and sweet oranges that left their fingers sticky were all well consumed. Even Miss Bingley seemed to mellow beneath her broad-brimmed hat, and much wit and laughter flowed.

"We ought to play a game of some sort," said Bingley lazily, as the plates were removed. "For I'm sure I shan't be ready for more walking for another half-hour at least."

"I know," said Caroline unexpectedly. "Let's all play a game of Consequences."

"Consequences? I haven't played Consequences in years."

"All the more reason to do it now! What better occupation at a picnic? Here, I shall direct. I even have an old letter in my reticule that shall do to write on!" She searched it for a moment, and produced not only a sheet of paper, half written on one side, but a pencil. "What order shall we go in?"

"I'll go first," volunteered Jane. Elizabeth, for her part, had little interest in what she viewed as a rather silly game, and she could guess from the look on Darcy's face that he felt the same, but of course neither of them could be so rude as to refuse.

"Excellent. Anyone else?" She looked around invitingly, and when no one responded immediately declared, "I shall follow dear Jane, and Mr. Darcy, you must go next, and then Miss Elizabeth, and finally you, Charles. Do you all recall what it is that you must write?"

Darcy cleared his throat. "You may have to refresh my memory as to the rules, Miss Bingley."

"It is very simple. Each of you write down something that I tell you at the top of the sheet, and then fold it over so that the next person after you cannot see it. There will be eleven entries in all. Then when we are all finished, I shall open the paper and read what you wrote like a story. The results are always most amusing, I promise you."

"We shall endeavor to amuse then," said Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley handed over the paper and pencil to Jane. "You must write down an adjective-that is a word that describes-for a man."

Jane looked at the paper, sighed a dreamy little sigh, and wrote down _gentlemanly_.

"Now fold it over," instructed Caroline, "and hand it to me. I am to write a man's name." She looked deliberately at Darcy and wrote down _William_. Folding it briskly, she handed it to him with a satisfied smile. "Mr. Darcy."

He took it gingerly. "What am I to write?"

"An adjective to describe a woman." She tried to look at him significantly, but his gaze had moved to Elizabeth beside him. Without hesitation he wrote _teasing_, and passed it to Lizzy. Their eyes met as their fingers brushed together.

"Miss Elizabeth, you must chose a woman's name," said Miss Bingley.

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment. Then, suddenly remembering what Darcy had called her, she put down _Hippolyta_, with a mischievous smile.

"And now you, Charles. You may write down the place where they met."

Bingley looked longingly at Jane's beautiful face. _At a country ball_, he scrawled.

"It is your turn again, Jane." She waited impatiently while Bingley slowly gave Jane the paper, getting lost in her eyes several times in the process. "Say what the man wore."

_ A blue coat_, printed Jane, with another sigh, and gave the paper back to Miss Bingley.

"I will write what the woman wore." With some deliberation she wrote, _an aurora silk gown trimmed with Brussels lace, and a saffron turban._ It was what she had worn the last evening Darcy dined at their house in town. "And now, Mr. Darcy, you must tell us what the man said to the woman when he met her."

He took the paper without comment (and without returning her look again). They were getting down nearer the end of the sheet now, and he, using his knee as a writing surface, took his time. He looked rather grave as he folded it and handed it to Elizabeth again.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Miss Bingley's voice came out a bit sharp. "It's your turn to write what the woman said to the man."

Elizabeth's eyes remained locked with Darcy's for just a moment before she looked down. She held the paper in her open hand, a bit awkwardly, close to her face so that she could not be seen, and wrote against her palm. For some reason, there was tension in the sunny air.

Bingley was very enthusiastic in his writing—"You must say what the consequence of their meeting was, Charles"—and pierced the paper with the pencil three times before he was through.

"Oh, is it my turn again?" asked Jane. "Or is that all?"

"There is one more, but perhaps you'd prefer I took the extra turn." Miss Bingley reclaimed the paper quickly. "I did choose the game, after all. I," she announced, "will answer the question of what the world said." She wrote with a flourish, and smiled around the circle. "Now, shall we not open it and see what our story says? I fancy some might find the content most interesting." She looked significantly at Darcy again, but he missed it for a third time.

Bingley rubbed his hands. "I say, I'm quite excited about this now!"

Caroline unfolded the sheet, now creased in many uneven lines. In a clear, well-modulated voice she read aloud, "_Gentlemanly William met teasing Hippolyta at a country ball. _My, what an odd name choice, Miss Eliza." Darcy smirked and Elizabeth merely smiled. _"William wore a blue coat_"—Jane sighed dreamily again—"_and Hippolyta wore an evening gown in aurora silk trimmed with Brussels lace, and an aurora turban."_

"Somehow I doubt that," murmured Darcy, only loud enough for Elizabeth to hear.

"_He said to her, 'If I had it all to do over again, I would do it differently.' She said to him, 'I should have looked harder—I should have seen who you really were.'_ _And the consequence was, they were perfectly, rapturously happy together all the days of their lives. And the world said, 'It is a most fitting match, between those who are equals in every way._"

The silence that followed was broken by Miss Bingley. "Do you know," she said, standing up abruptly, "I do believe I'm growing rather warm. And I really should get out of the sun—unlike _some_ I have a care for my complexion. If you'll all excuse me, I think I'll wait in the carriage."

"But we haven't even visited the pond yet," objected Bingley. "Miss Bennet expressly wanted—"

"I doesn't matter, I don't need to—"

"You may take as long as you please," said Miss Bingley coldly. "But I would prefer to sit in the carriage. I've had enough of dirt and insects for one day."

Watching her walk away, Elizabeth felt some pity for her, but did not know what to do. Her distress was of her own making.

"Perhaps we ought to visit the pond now," suggested Darcy.

They all agreed, and the gentlemen helped the ladies to their feet. Past the main ruins was a small path running between some trees that took them down to the pond. It was very pretty, with trees that overhung the bank, and thick rushes along one end where the water flowed out into healthy stream, heading towards the sea. A small dock stood in the water a little way from them, though there were no boats in sight.

The ladies made some pleased exclamations, and their swains obligingly followed them as they wandered about the banks, looking at the water and waterfowl, admiring the trees, and generally enjoying the unique blessings which nature provides.

Elizabeth paused by the dock. "I wonder if anyone ever uses this."

"Perhaps not any more, but once, yes. I'll bet there's some excellent fishing to be had here."

"Do you think so?" They walked out and peered into the water.

"Look," said Darcy, "in the shadows there—a fine, large perch."

"Oh yes, I see," she said after a moment.

"There are probably pike in a pond like this too, and perhaps the odd trout."

For a few minutes they walked around the edge of the dock, pointing out fish and turtles and one exceptionally fat frog who swam by. The quiet of the place was seeping into them, and the warmth of the sun and the glare off the water put them into almost a haze. Eventually they found themselves at the end of the planks, standing not more than three feet apart, just looking at each other. They had stood together on a dock just the week before, but it had not been at all like this.

"Miss Bennet," said Darcy, slowly. "Elizabeth..."

"Hi, Darcy!" Bingley called from the bank. "Come here and take a look at this, will you?" He and Jane were standing a little away, looking towards the sun.

The cheeks of both those standing on the dock colored, and Elizabeth looked away to compose herself. Darcy muttered an apology and walked off.

"Well, what is it, Bingley?" he asked crossly when he reached them.

He gestured towards some pale, veined flowers growing in the grass. "Darcy, didn't you once tell me that these are called cuckooflowers? I remember it because of the odd name."

Darcy looked at him incredulously. "And this is why you called me over?"

"Miss Bennet wants to know," said Bingley, as if that was all the explanation required.

"I always thought they were called Lady's Smock," added Jane.

"It's called by both names, as far as I know," he said, testy in his frustration. "Really, Bingley, what is this sudden mania for wildflowers, and why am I the person to ask? If you and your sister are so fascinated by the names of common field flowers, you ought to buy a book—or hire a gardener to travel with you! But as for me I..."

At this moment, a gallinaceous racket behind him drew the attention of the party to the events taking place on the little dock.

While waiting for Darcy to return, Elizabeth had found herself accosted by a trio of belligerent geese, who, having often been fed by visitors who came to the ruins, had grown very bold. Their heads came as high as her waist, and though she was at first amused at their approach, she quickly became alarmed as they crowded around her, honking loudly. One of them snatched at her reticule and she pulled it back, looking futilely for something to defend herself with. Another nipped at her skirt, and she gave it a swift kick, but stumbled back a step as she did so. A third nip sent her jumping back the other way—but unfortunately, there was no dock left. Her foot landed more than halfway on air, she teetered, tried to regain her balance and finally, before Darcy's horrified gaze, tumbled ungracefully into the water with an impressive splash.

"Elizabeth!" cried Darcy, and lunged towards the edge of the pond.

"Mr. Darcy, do not!" cried Jane. "I do not believe it is very..." her voice faltered as he practically flung himself into the water, "deep."

Indeed it was not deep. Elizabeth came up sputtering a moment later, hat limp and hair in her eyes. She floundered for just a bit before finding her feet. She stood up just as Darcy reached her, and found the water did not reach above her waist.

"Elizabeth!" he gasped, seizing her by the arms. "Are you hurt?" Her only reply was a hiccup, and a futile shove at the water and hair in her eyes. "Oh, my love..." murmured Darcy, and, without further ceremony, picked her up in his arms.

Such a gesture was not strictly necessary, as Lizzy was unharmed and quite capable of walking out, but she could not find it in herself to object. Instead she clung to him as, holding her tightly to his chest, he began to wade back towards shore. Wading through thigh-high water is never easy, and her added weight caused his fine boots to sink into the mud, but he struggled determinedly on, clutching his prize. When they reached the shore he collapsed on the ground, still holding her.

Elizabeth's hat, which had been so jaunty that morning, was soaked and drooping now; plus, it had an annoying way of getting between her face and Darcy's. She tugged at the ribbons and when they would not give way, pushed it backwards on her head, making an even greater mess of her hair in the process.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth," Darcy was saying, his voice full of emotion.

"Why?" His face was so near, his eyes so full of feeling, and she could feel his heart pounding so clearly, that without even thinking about it, she wrapped both her arms around his neck.

"I have led you into one disaster after another! I am a miserable protector!" If possible, he drew her even closer.

"It was the stupid geese," she said. "I hate geese."

"I hate geese too," he answered, and kissed her.

~%~

All this was observed by a highly interested Mr. Bingley and a blushing but also interested Jane Bennet. They would likely have continued in their observations, except that just then a step was heard on the path behind them. Their eyes leapt to each other's, both thinking the same thing.

"Your sister!" hissed Jane, and looked pointedly at the embracing couple.

"I'll head her off," whispered Bingley back, and then added, just before he turned, "my darling."

That one word was enough to make Jane forget all about her sister and lapse into a happy daze of her own.

On the grass, Darcy drew his head back slowly. Elizabeth's head rested against his shoulder, her eyes shut and her cheeks flushed and damp. She still had a mark where her cheek had been cut, surrounded by the mottled remains of the bruise, and her hair was in sodden disarray, but he cared not. "I am surely the most incompetent lover who ever lived," he said, "but I _do_ love you. You must see that."

Her eyes opened, and sparkled. "I got your coat wet, I'm afraid."

"I don't care about my coat! Elizabeth, I'm trying to ask you to marry me."

That made her grow serious again. "You need not, just because I fell into a pond."

"I don't care about the pond either! Or at least, I care, but that's not why I'm asking." He drew back a little further, just enough so that they could really look at each other. "I came to Morecastle on a foolish, improbable whim, hoping to somehow find you—and I did. I've bungled everything since then—I bungled everything before—but it was always—"

"You didn't bungle everything." She removed one hand from the back of his neck and placed it against his cheek. It was still gloved, and the glove was wet, but he did not mind. "On the contrary, you have done what I would never have believed possible." He held his breath, waiting. "In scarcely more than a week, you have effected so material a change in my feelings towards you, that I think... I am almost certain... that is, I _believe_ that I..." She paused an infinitesimal moment, then spoke the word, even as it rose, formed and clear and adorned with truth, in her mind. "...love you." Darcy inhaled sharply. "I love you," she repeated, and smiled tremulously bright.

He closed his eyes briefly, looked in her eyes one more time, and, finally able to do something other than just look, Darcy once again lowered his head and sealed her lips with his own.

~%~

"For the last time, Charles, I wish you to stand aside and let me pass!" Miss Bingley had reached a high point of exasperation.

"I can't," he repeated doggedly.

"I don't understand why not! Has the pond dried up all of a sudden? Or is there something shocking about the color of its water, or the ripple of its waves?"

"No, I just think you would prefer to wait in the carriage, as you said."

"It's those Bennet girls, isn't it? They sent you to turn me back! Why? What do they hope to accomplish?" She strained to look past his shoulder.

"Of course it's not them, but I just think, Caroline—" his thought was unfinished as she seized a small opening and darted past him. "No, wait, I really must insist—"

He had just caught up with her and placed a restraining hand on her arm when she burst out of the path into the clearing by the pond. Her gaze, like a homing pigeon returning to roost, lit immediately on the object of its greatest interest, and the clearing echoed, ever so briefly, with a clear, high-pitched shriek.

~%~

Miss Bingley did not remain hysterical for long, but it was sufficient to bring the lovers to themselves. Elizabeth blushed furiously but Darcy continued to hold her protectively, until Jane stepped up and delicately reminded them both that Lizzy was soaked and Darcy not much better. Bingley succeeded in sending his shocked sister back to the carriage to request blankets and whatever else might be available to warm and dry them, then volunteered his own coat to wrap the lady. Since Lizzy had become belatedly aware of how immodest a wet gown actually is, she was very grateful to accept it, and to walk with Jane to a more private spot.

Still watching her, Darcy climbed slowly to his feet. Bingley clapped him on the shoulder. "My warmest congratulations!"

"Thank you."

"I'll bet you never thought you would owe your happiness to a pair of geese, eh?"

Darcy's gaze turned dark as he peered around the pond. "Those birds ought to be shot."

"I daresay they shall be, one of these days."

"We shall have no geese at Pemberley."

"Of course not."

"Except on the dinner table."

Bingley just grinned. Coming a little more to himself, Darcy glanced ruefully down at his wet leathers and muddied boots. "My man is likely to quit my service when he sees me. He only this morning informed me that the boots I wore last Friday will never be the same again, despite all his efforts. I thought he was going to cry."

"Tell him he's to have a new mistress, and I am sure he shall forgive you."

That made Darcy smile again, his whole countenance lightening as he glanced towards where he ladies had gone. "And you, my friend? When do you intend to secure your happiness?"

"Soon. That is, if certain of my companions can cease drawing attention to themselves."

Rather than taking offense Darcy only laughed and then trudged off, boots squishing, to where Miss Bingley could be seen leading John, his arms piled high with blankets and carriage rugs. After he had done his best to clean himself up, and Miss Bennet had helped Elizabeth to do the same, they all came back together before returning to the carriage. Although drier than she had been, Elizabeth was still wrapped in a large blanket, for warmth and modesty. They had let down her hair, which was beginning to curl wildly as it dried. She looked, in truth, so very desirable, that Darcy could not forbear to take one of the hands that peeked out of her wrappings, and press it to his lips. She blushed happily and grinned at him.

"It would be better for my peace of mind if you were less pleasing than you are, but I cannot regret it," he said.

"Oh! You shall make a fine husband, if you will but continue with comments like that!" she laughed.

"Then I am assured of success." He kissed her hand again.

On the ride home no one objected to the two damp travelers sharing a seat, and if their hands sometimes found each other beneath the blankets, not even Miss Bingley commented on it. Elizabeth was deeply happy and almost as bewildered, unable to care how she looked, but electrifyingly conscious of the man beside her.

She was not so absorbed in herself that she did not notice the eager glances Mr. Bingley threw her sister. As these glances were made over the crown of his sister's hat they were not very effective, but she smiled to herself, knowing it would not be long before Jane joined her in her new status.

When they at last arrived at home it was growing late, and the dinner hour was nearly upon them. There were exclamations from Mrs. Gardiner on seeing how wet and bedraggled Elizabeth was, and a great movement to get her upstairs without delay, but somehow she managed a moment nearly alone with him, in the hall, still wrapped in her blanket.

"I will write to your father immediately," whispered Darcy. "In the meantime, may I speak to your uncle?"

She nodded. "You will return for dinner?"

"If your aunt will still receive me."

"Of course she will."

"If she objects, I have bribes."

"Bribes?" She raised her eyebrows, but he simply smiled a faint, mysterious smile. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. Darcy."

"Well, thank heaven for that, anyway."

They contemplated each other a moment longer, constrained by the company around them from further action, then Elizabeth was hustled away by her aunt. All the way up the stairs she kept looking over her shoulder, and her last glimpse of Darcy was of him standing with damp and tousled hair, a dark line of wet still marking his trousers above the knee, several water marks on his coat, and his eyes fixed with certainty on herself. He was, she thought, the most beautiful man in the world.

_Yes_, reflected Elizabeth before her mirror as the maid combed the tangles out of her hair, Mr. Darcy was the first man, the only man in all the world, she could ever be prevailed upon to marry. "Jane," she said aloud to her sister, making her own toilette across the room, "is there any felicity in the world compared to being in love? How glad I am that we came here! How glad I am that we did not go to the Lakes!"

**The End**


End file.
